


Infinitum Propter Tristitiam

by Tulak_Hord



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Anakin is considerably more under Palpatine's influence, Anakin starts off a moron but gets better, BAMF Mace Windu, BAMF Obi-Wan Kenobi, Dark Anakin Skywalker, Darth Traya is a well-meaning troll, Gen, Hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi, Je'daii Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, Lord Kenobi devastates the Republic, Manipulative Sheev Palpatine, Obi-Wan leaves the Jedi, Obi-Wan rescues the Separatist War Effort, Separatist Obi-Wan Kenobi, The Je'daii Order, You never know the value of something until you miss it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25993423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tulak_Hord/pseuds/Tulak_Hord
Summary: 'Infinite Sadness'Obi-Wan Kenobi is a man known to have made a great many sacrifices, but when Anakin goes too far, the Jedi Master's iron restraint cracks.Months after his inexplicable resignation from the Jedi Order, the Separatists unleash a devastating campaign of resurgence against the recently-triumphant Republic, under the leadership of a mysterious and unknown Admiral. It is naturally General Skywalker's task to hunt him down- only that his foe somehow always knows the contents of his plans before he so much as makes them.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Dooku & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Dooku/Hating Anakin's Guts, Mace Windu & Yoda, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Sheev Palpatine & Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 221
Kudos: 431





	1. The End

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this is in first-person ONLY for the first chapter.
> 
> I shall begin by saying that I do indeed hold no grudge against Anakin. It is merely that the ridiculous idea of merging a Hurt Obi-Wan, a BAMF Obi-Wan and a Separatist Obi-Wan requires him to be considerably more under Sidious' sway than he was in canon at the beginning (or is he? You decide). 
> 
> This is the product of some of my readings, to see that most fics with a happy ending require Obi-Wan, of all people, to admit his mistakes to Anakin, who is in fact in the wrong. It is also a matter of demonstrating how Anakin cared for Padme above all else. This shall therefore have a respect for Jedi and the Council, and a bit of Anakin-bashing and some cruelty on his part in the beginning- but he gets better, I promise. It is, however, sadly not in time...

**Infinitum Propter Tristitiam**

To this day I shall maintain that there is little I could have done.

As with most things that sadly involved my name in those days, it began, of course, when my padawan, whom I have raised since he was ten, since the death of my master, went a touch too far.

If to say that I revile this damned war with an utter hatred is to disavow my ideals to never hate as a Jedi, then I shall confess I am less than concerned on breaking the code on this count.

The times were dark, as many shall tell, for Jedi never were meant to be soldiers. The Dark Side clouds everything; it does to this day, as well, but there seemed little choice at the time but to throw ourselves to it.

I cannot yet fathom the tragedy done unto the Vod’e, the Clones- brothers all, brothers mine as well. I cannot at all make peace with the fact that the Senate sees fit to sacrifice yet more of my brothers upon the crucible of war, whether or not they be swayed by the wiles of the serpent Palpatine; and sent often, it would seem, in battle against my own self.

I never did expect the Count to understand, but he has shown a strength befitting of his time as a Jedi, and though he carries yet the darkness that tainted his soul and shall forevermore, I must praise his will to rebel against his master, the Dark Lord of the Sith Darth Sidious, and not in the typical manner of the Sith at that.

For indeed, through this ordeal, the one known and hated as Darth Tyranus has been my one and only ally, if one does not count my Chiss friend- but Mitth’raw’nuruodo shall act as my hand so long as it suits his purposes, for he is beholden only to the greater good of the Chiss Ascendancy.

The tale has been told time and again, of Obi-Wan Kenobi, traitor to the Jedi Order- why, my own padawan himself is ineffable in his zeal to hunt me down- and yet it has never been told from my tongue, nor my side.

Why I did it, that secret I shall carry to the grave- but I merely wished a neutral observer could see the story as it is told. I am no orator, that is true, for I know only to see things as they are. Not even Dooku knows the story in its entirety- not even Ahsoka, whose compassion I did not deserve when she is so hard-pressed to give of it in these dark times.

It is known only by the one who taught me the path, she who calls herself ‘Kreia’, along the one who forged it in times gone by, the first of the Je’daii Masters. 

It began as one would not perhaps expect, given the at times overdramatic nature of war. But this is the teaching of this war, of all wars; that they summon the worst of us, and when poisoned, never does the taint leave your veins.

I do not believe I had ever seen my dear Anakin as angry as he had been that day.

In hindsight, I feel I should have better observed the growing distance between us; the man I had raised, whom I had taught all I knew- _magnificent_ in the Force like no other, with twice the raw power I ever had and ten times the potential, glared at me as if I were an enemy.

I believed I had every right to what I had done- but perhaps I had done less. Is doing less, however, enough to deserve the breaking of one’s heart, to have it torn asunder by the only one who yet remained that one loved?

Satine had died. Siri had died. Qui-Gon was long-gone, and I had only Anakin.

Hunched over my mounds of paperwork (to be filled out in the most painstaking manner only to appease the Senate, wrought by what I am sure is a sadistic design), I offered him a small smile as I had the strength to in those days.

“Hello, Anakin. Is there something you wish of me?” I asked.

“You _kriffing liar.”_ he replied, and a frown threatened the corners of my mouth. I have lied before- one had to if one were to claim the moniker of ‘The Negotiator’- and yet I had never, ever lied to Anakin, save for the matter of the Hardeen Deception, about which my hands were tied.

Yet even now as I recall, he never did come to me, did he? He only had the time to berate me for ‘toying’ with his feelings. Does he not understand that we are at war? He never _talked_ to me. He spent all the time he had on his hands with Padmé- I had always known of his quite overt involvement with her but was a fool never to know that she was his wife.

He never once apologised for kicking me in the groin, for Force’s Sake. I should have known it sooner. I had forgiven him for what he was then. I doubt I shall ever truly be able to now.

“I beg your pardon, Anakin?” I said, trying to release my emotions into the Force and project an air of serenity. I always thought that was what Anakin needed- a source of constancy in his tumultuous life. It had been difficult for me, to dismiss my own feelings in part so that I could look after me padawan, but Dooku has helpfully informed me that it achieved the opposite effect- to make me appear inhuman.

For all the Count’s boundless and irrational hatred for Anakin, I cannot help but agree in this case.

“You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. _Why weren’t you there for her?”_

It was at once apparent what he wished to say.

“Anakin, I did as much as I could for Ahsoka, believe me, I tried-“

“And yet to me, you’ll always say ‘Do or do not’, wouldn’t you, _Master_?” The word was a sharp hiss, an icy undercurrent, and I was drawn to recoil, yet I did not.

“Anakin, you know I never asked you to do anything I’d be unwilling to…”

“Who saved your sorry ass _nine times?!_ ” Anakin bellowed, and I found it increasingly harder to release my emotions.

 _There is no emotion; there is peace._ How terribly had I misinterpreted the meaning then?

“I was all for welcoming her into the order, Anakin- I vouched for her, didn’t you see?”

“If not for me, you’d be dead ten times over, and this is how you thank me?! By betraying my apprentice? Don’t tell me what the kriff I must see, Obi-Wan- you were up there on the pedestal with the rest of the council! You weren’t at her side like Padmé was!”

“ _Anakin,_ I am a Jedi Master and my foremost duty is to the Jedi Order-“

“You think you know karking _everything,_ and you’re WRONG!”

_What?_

Admittedly, it was a ludicrous sentiment. I hardly trust my own opinion on half ther matters I must evaluate, hence my emphasis on calculation and a steady assessment of the situation from all angles.

“Come now, Anakin, when have I ever given the impression of being so deluded as to…”

“Always! Every kriffing day, when you DON’T! Why can’t you be more like Padmé, Obi-Wan? Why can’t you acknowledge your own faults?”

These comparisons to Padmé were unprecedented and thoroughly irritating. I saw little choice but to put my foot down on the matter.

“That is no way to talk to the man who taught you, _padawan._ I should say that is no tone to take with _anyone_ if you are a Jedi. Perhaps I have been inadequate as a teacher…”

“Inadequate?” he scoffed. “Oh, no, Obi-Wan, not that. You had _all_ the talents necessary to ensure I became a better swordsman than Master Windu and a better force-wielder than Master Yoda, but you always held me back, and purposely so! You couldn’t think about having me, an imperfect Jedi because I _care,_ grow beyond the greybeards whom you have revered for generations!”

Tides of wrath rose within me, and as always, I moved to quell. These were insinuations of the most foolish kind, and I never once thought the words would come from my padawan’s mouth. My own padawan, whom I loved, and whom I was convinced loved me- that was not true, sadly. His heart has only room for a certain Senator and the Chancellor she unwittingly serves these days.

“What is it, Anakin?” I asked, as softly as I could. I did not wish to hurt him, for I thought I knew he did not mean it. How foolish I was- curse myself for not seeing Palpatine’s claws within him sooner. And yet I shall now wreak a thousand times vengeance on the Dark Lord, and cannot be brought to care whether he falls in the path.

“You _know_ what it is, Obi-Wan! You’re one of them! All my life, I have tried to love you as the one closest to my father, and what do you do? You never _care!”_

“That is an utter falsehood and you know it.” I said. In contrast to his scorching, defeaning shouts, my voice was ice incarnate. I had never wished to adopt that tone in front of my dear Anakin- neither do I now, when he is rightfully not so dear as he once may have been.

“Like I said, you _lied._ You think you must always be the perfect Jedi, and so you sent me away, so you stopped _caring._ You suppress your attachments because _they_ told you to- and how could you? How could you just stop like that?”

“Anakin, just because I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve does not mean I care any less!”

“And yet you’d be willing to throw all your friends to the starport if the Code called for it!”

Long years of apprenticeship under Qui-Gon Jinn extinguished the fumes that threatened to burst forth from within. I could not in the least understand why he would begin to insinuate such. Had I not known how much Anakin cared for those he loved, I would almost question if he had a heart. Satine had _died,_ for goodness’ sake!

“Attachment does not equal love, Anakin!” I said, raising my voice to match his before it could be drowned out. “I love and care as you do, as all do, but I differ in that I am able to let _go_ when the time comes for it. That is what marks me as a Jedi Knight.”

How foolish of me, to employ the Jedi as arguments. How foolish and naïve. If there is now one word to describe Anakin, it would definitely not be ‘Jedi’- I know not how I failed him and why he is not, but he cannot, in good conscience, be called a Jedi.

And yet he remains the face of the Order, the most famous knight in the field, personally charged with apprehending the traitor, which is, of course, myself.

He took me by the shoulder and shook me; his strength was so great and his might in the Force even more terrible, to the effect that I could not, at any cost, break from his hold.

“Then maybe the Order’s rules are wrong! I thought of you as better than that, but you’re like _them!_ ” he screamed into my ear, leaving me rattled.

“You’ve been nothing but a droid, parroting what _they_ taught you without the courage to question it!”

I could not deny how hurt I felt, hard as I tried. It is as well that it means nothing to me now.

I crumbled upon myself, wondering how it had come to _this._ It was fine a week ago- a month ago- but it really was not, was it? We had been growing more distant every year. Perhaps it is for the best. What is the value of Obi-Wan Kenobi when measured against the Chosen One, he who will bring balance to the Universe, the child of the Force itself?

Nothing. As ever I was, so I am, nothing.

“The rules exist for a reason, Anakin.” I attempted to plead halfheartedly. “Surely you can see their merit if they have kept us alive for a thousand years…”

“No! I’m sick of your half-truths! I cannot and will not! What kind of order forbids its members from feeling love?!”

“ANAKIN!” I shouted. This was too much.

It indeed was too much- and in another way. I should not have presumed I held enough authority, or indeed enough worth in his eyes to discipline my former padawan.

“Come to your senses!” I begged. “Of course Jedi can feel love- they _must_ feel love, or else we would not be Jedi! The distinction is that we know when to put our duty to the Order and the Republic first! It is attachment that is forbidden, not love!”

Anakin sneered.

“Lie all you want, _Master._ I should have listened to the Chancellor all along. He was right about you and all the Jedi. You don’t care about me or any of us. Is it worse, Master, if you were not to feel love, or if you could indeed and decide to cast it out at the drop of a hat if the Council willed it?”

The power to hurt me had been taken from me by my enemies. The Sith Lords took Qui-Gon, who was as my father, and Satine, who was the only one I loved enough to consider ceasing to be a Jedi. War had taken my friends and my brothers whom I commanded. My duty had taken _everything-_ all except Anakin. Only Anakin remained- and Anakin took the knife of the Sith and drove it irrevocably through my ribs.

I attempted for my face to adopt the mask of stone it always did; the sign of the Negotiator, above all else. I failed, and miserably so. I would not have had this not been _Anakin._

“Do you know, Anakin, when the Council considered your expulsion while you were still a padawan? Do you know what I did to keep you in the order? I told them I would leave it myself.”

Anakin’s lips curled.

For a moment, I thought it had achieved its effect.

“Then I congratulate you on your political skill, master.”

_When would this man see sense?!_

“I… I did not sever our training bond, if you recall, Anakin. Do you not know the sacrifice I made? I- broke the code on attachment myself because I was attached to you…”

“THEN THAT’S YOUR OWN FAULT!” he raged. “WHY DID I SUFFER FOR IT?!”

“You… suffer? I taught you all I know, and this-“

“Are you blind, Obi-Wan? If you did truly mean it, it wouldn’t have to be a sacrifice in the first place! Why did you push me away? Why did you try to make me into a person I was not?”

“Anakin, I don’t know wh-who put these words in your head, but _please…”_

“Well, if you hated me so much for your own faults and weaknesses, why did you not just get rid of me?! A lot of other masters wanted to train me! I AM THE CHOSEN ONE! WHY WAS I PREVENTED FROM DOING WHAT I WAS MEANT TO DO?”

I was near sobbing, then, but it would not do to show tears, not in front of Anakin. He would have pounced on them, derided me for my weakness- the part of me that is guilty maintains to this day that he would not.

Anakin would stir up like a sphere-bound electromagnetic pulse, beyond the control of any but Padmé when he remained in one of his fits- and I should have known it. Perhaps tears would have brought a hint of compassion into his tirade- yet I am glad I did not yield then. It was good riddance.

Carefully, I sank into the Force. Anakin’s presence was upon me. The Force chanted _Anakin, Anakin_ constantly in my ear, refusing guidance when I was in conflict with its favoured son. And yet, over years, I had amassed reserves of my own. If wisdom would not convince him, perhaps strength would.

I looked up to the raging inferno that was his visage, and steeled my eyes.

“I have failed you, Anakin.” I said. “I have failed you. Qui-Gon made me promise to train you- so much so that it was his dying wish. He did not mention a word of his concern for me after that long apprenticeship- and yet I sought to do honour to his words.”

I thought that revelation would bring some light to Anakin’s darkness. It rendered him even more predatory instead. He started laughing.

“I knew it!” he said, triumphant. “Damn right you failed me, _Master,_ because you never chose me! And you became the favourite pet of the Council so that they were convinced to let you keep me, while I could have flourished otherwise! If Master Qui-Gon were here, he wouldn’t have stood for this!”

A thousand sorrows filled me at that. _“There are things I could tell you about Qui-Gon that would challenge every opinion you ever held of the man, boy.”_ I wished to say. My love for my old master held my tongue shut.

“See? You _know_ it. Finally, you show the guilt. Well, at least you’re human, master- maybe you _did_ care for Ahsoka after all, but… it was only as much as the Council allowed you, isn’t it?”

“Keep the Council out of this!” I shouted, matching his cadence. His eyes briefly flashed _yellow,_ and ah, I should have known it for the portent it was.

“So the dog rushes to defend its owner?” he asked, rending a thousand wounds within me.

I glared at him, but when I could once see through his mind and into his soul, I could not, now. His shields truly are impressive- and it is especially galling to think that I taught him my own technique, which he sued currently against me.

“I have no master. I serve the Jedi and am a Jedi of my own will.” I said, finally achieving the resolute tone I wished.

“Then a blind man who believes his own lies is more dangerous than any lackey. I looked up to you once, Obi-Wan. I’m only realising my mistakes now. And guess what- I should have known earlier. You want to talk about Satine? About how you supposedly _loved_ her? Well if you truly did, you would have made sure she was safe and she wouldn’t be _dead!”_

Torrents of rebukes rose in my mind, but my breath was dry. I was choking. The grief, sadly, w as yet too near, and I did not have the strength to overcome it.

I do not know why. It felt then as if an ash-storm on which I choked, unable to draw breath. It feels now as a poison, a pit of acid in my stomach that I cannot access.

“And you know what’s more?” he said, relentless. “Jedi are supposed to _protect_ people. If you truly were the perfect Jedi, instead of regurgitating the Council’s definition of it with your every action, then maybe you truly would have been a better Jedi! You tell me about how Qui-Gon’s dying wish never contained a single word for you? You think that’s unexpected?”

I could not stop the tears now, silent rivulets flowing from my eyes against my will. There is not a moment I do not think of how I lost my dignity and poise that day with tears, and there is never a time I do not entertain thoughts of gouging my eyes out if only to prevent their treachery afterwards.

Anakin’s grin was almost feral.

“He _never_ wanted you, you see. You were always a placeholder, weren’t you?” he said, in a manner that can only be called cruel.

“You weren’t any better than the- oh, what did you call them? _Pathetic Lifeforms_ he kept. An object to keep him from getting bored. You never were good enough, leading you to the idea that you had to delude yourself that you were. Now I’ll tell you what he didn’t to your face, because I know what works on you, _master-_ He knew I’m better than you! He always knew, and always wanted me as a result! Why the hell do you think he pushed you towards knighthood? Because you were _never good enough!”_

I looked away. I could bear it no longer.

Words would be no more use now. It could be no longer staved off- Anakin needed to know he wasn’t the only one who made sacrifices.

Luckily, the vestigial remnants of our once-training bond still existed. I forced my mind to focus, shaping my thoughts to push them along the bond, willing him to finally _see…_

 _“Maybe if you were a better person instead of a Jedi, Master Qui-Gon wouldn’t have died. Neither would Satine.”_ he whispered almost plaintively, voice dropping to the cadence one would associate with a deadly, soft dagger.

I am still aware of the utterly awful description I add to what happened next. Something _broke._

Qui-Gon Jinn was my _father,_ the man I had loved for years despite the pain he brought on me when he trained me.

And I realised then that Anakin was _right._

I do not think I screamed. What I released was not a scream, or a howl. I do not even think I made a sound.

I unleashed every last vestige of the pain, the sacrifice, the hardships I had borne for this boy violently into the Force.

I let my emotion flow into the very _meaning_ of _sorrow._ Pure _sorrow._ It was, as much as I can call it, grief incarnate.

Anakin gave a pained grunt and stood back, trying to grab for me and halt me, and I _feared_ him then; I feared what he’d do to me. I flinched away from him in a way he knows- it was the way a slave fears the hand of their master.

At that moment, I did whatever I could to keep him at bay. And so I took my one choice- I _ripped_ our training bond apart, _throwing_ the last of my thoughts and forcing them upon him.

I had expected him to collapse- but far beyond me in the Force that he was, he only staggered back with a quiet gasp. He was fighting my memories, trying to dismiss them, I knew it- and yet it gave me time to do what I needed.

I ran out as quickly as I could, to my everlasting shame. I ignored Anakin’s shout-perhaps for me, or someone he _trusted_ to hold me back- I ignored the dearest of my brothers, Commander Cody, as he looked at me with an expression of concern.

All I could do that terrible day was to pathetically, shamefully cry myself to sleep.

I wished I had not, for that was when the vision came.

I could perhaps have reconciled myself with Anakin Skywalker had I not received that terrible vision, that which broke my life and split it asunder- but I could never make peace with _Darth Vader._

I woke the next day a different man.

Anakin was _right._

Perhaps it was time that I ceased being a perfect Jedi- or indeed a Jedi at all. I could do nothing but stand by and watch and suffer if I remained so.

That was the day Obi-Wan Kenobi, Master and Councillor of the Jedi Order met his death.

That was the day of the birth of Lord Protector Kenobi of Stewjon, first master of the reformed order of the Je’daii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This thoroughly self-indulgent piece was written for my own idea of a Separatist Obi-Wan, and also stems from the fact that my first fic in 'Legacy of the Revenant' made me enjoy writing a harmonious Obi-Wan-Dooku working relationship a little too much. 
> 
> This is, of course, a bit of a heavy lorefic, as most of my writings are. A well-wish to all who peruse it.


	2. The Parting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought a great deal about this story, and came to the realisation that if I am to continue it seriously, I CANNOT proceed in first person, as I myself dislike the form. Novelty or not, it chafes at me if I am to write something I wouldn't myself like to read, and so this shall proceed in third person and from multiple points of view. 
> 
> There' s a bit of heavy lore and worldbuilding in this chapter, so I'd ask you to bear with me. Obi-Wan joins the CIS in earnest in the next, with a bit of a timeskip in between.

**The Parting**

_“Nri ar’den, dur nri khitir nar’ritur erenar.”_

So tired was he, so utterly spent that his battlefield instinct to swivel around and immediately search for and be weary of the source of the voice was quelled utterly.

The excuse of a ‘meditative retreat’ had been enough for the Jedi Council, securing him a leave of absence on his homeworld, Stewjon. Obi-Wan’s path was uncertain, but he felt he would live out the rest of his days which he could only hope would be short as a nondescript hermit on the mountainsides.

He only grudgingly opened his eyes from where they were shut in lament to behold the phantom.

 _“Forgive me, but I cannot stand by any longer.”_ it had said, in perfect Stuujak.

The ghostly figure, blue against the great mountains of Stewjon, only affected a sad smile.

Obi-Wan was sad to admit that he was not the most fluent in the ancient tongue, not used save for ceremonies on his home planet, but he replied in kind.

“Nelkidur ar’denar. Nri krur erenarro nelkidur.” he repeated, with a lesser fluency. “There is nothing to forgive. Myself, I have nothing anymore.”

He would have, perhaps, enquired whom he spoke to, or how this could be possible, had he only the strength. Qui-Gon always had told him to live in the present, and that the future was always in motion- but what could he do?

The Jedi were going to die. All of them. And the Son of the Force would be at the helm of the purge.

The Force _wished_ the Jedi to die, then. What could he do?

It was to stand at the non-existent mercy of a heathen god one had prayed to all one’s life, to see it all fall flat. Only after would one realise that one had no choice but to be at the heathen’s mercy and had known no path but the heathen’s doctrine would one be broken, utterly and thoroughly, rendered a shell.

And so Obi-Wan knew what question he would be asked before it was asked, and what response he would give.

 _“Nhi ritur nelkidur?”_ – “Will you do nothing?”

“Nri sor nar’wan ademar Ashlarir.” – “I am no one when weighted by the will of the Force.”

The figure stared at him a good, long while. Obi-Wan did not see its outline, did not see its face and eyes- it was but a wisp on the winds, but the winds suddenly stopped. The bluish figure ceased its flicker, and _eyes_ appeared- eyes of powerful storm-grey, lined with many years of wisdom, followed by a similarly lined face, tempered by hardship.

Obi-Wan fancied the figure was growing more solid, and felt lightheaded- perhaps _he_ was turning more tenuously bonded to space to compensate? He did not know. He was drawn from his musings with a contemptuous scoff.

_“Ker nhi nar’drumir nhar draich, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”_

“Then you dishonour your name, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Had he cared, he would stumble in shock. The question he would ask would be ‘How did you know my name?”

Instead, he looked down, stifling a sob and turning it to a broken, disheartened chuckle. There would be a multitude of those, he could foretell, if he chose to torture himself with existence for long enough.

“Shor ereir; shor, shor ereir.” – “Many times; many, many times.”

Lightning struck the spot his feet were a moment ago, and he turned to find the spectre nearly brimming with wrath.

“I tire of this farce of guilt. Cease at once.” it- _he_ commanded, with an imperious glare.

“Marvellous. How thoughtful of you to have known Basic all this time, only to let me embarrass myself with my deplorable Stuujak.” Obi-Wan said, not fazed out of a lack of caring.

“I would have been quicker in drawing the knowledge from your mind had I not been quite the disoriented mess after your accidental gallivant in the Cosmic Force.”

_What?_

“What do you- ah, no, no, there is no need. Do me a favour and be a little off in your aim the next time you decide to smite the ground behind my feet with a lightning bolt. You’ll do us both a favour.” said Obi-Wan, plodding on towards the mountain.

“This is not my doing. With your misery, it is you who disrupted the balance in the Force. The discharge of energy is the Force’s method of compensation.”

 _“I_ did it? I assure you, if I had done it, the target would most certainly not have been-“

“There is something known as the unintentional and the unforeseen, _Stuuken._ Not everything is your fault, and I should call you a fool for deeming it so.”

He cackled this time, half-sobbing, half-laughing as if in throes of lunacy.

“But what matters is, is it not? Anakin will fall, because I could not teach him well enough. The Jedi will be ruined because I wasn’t good enough. IS THIS NOT PROOF ENOUGH THAT I AM DESTINED, DESTINED I SAY, FOR ONLY INFINITE SADNESS?”

The figure was silent.

“I thought as much. After all, Force knows I deserve it- but I am as the Force made me, am I not? Well, I believe there is little I can do about my status as the one malfunctioning cog that ruins the machine.”

A great rumble of thunder, and a ring- _a ring-_ of lightning erupted around him, carving a smoking hole of the ground he was on.

_“You truly don’t know, do you?”_

“What?” Obi-Wan asked, furiously rubbing away his tears. There was no rain to accompany the lightning. _“What?”_

“You say you are inadequate, yet you mastered Ergast’s ritual without prior knowledge of it. You _walked_ within the _Force,_ Master among Jedi, and you bound myself to your spirit in an arcane ritual of the Force known only to the greatest of the Dark Lords of the Sith- but the binding was willing, as I wished it to be.”

He was taken aback with shock.

“I… I used the Dark Side?”

The spectre was merciless. _“Yes.”_

He turned his head down, eyes utterly dry, face dispassionate. “Only a matter of time before I too fall, I see. I was always- _this,_ wasn’t I? Amounting to nothing and all that…”

_“Fool.”_

Obi-Wan turned up. “I have not disputed that point.”

 _“Cowardly fool._ A chance to save your precious padawan and the Jedi as a whole presents itself and you would _run_ from it- well, I thought you had potential, _Stuuken._ It turns out I was mistaken.”

His eyes snapped up, and his heartbeat increased. “Stuuken”, the phantom had called him again, ‘Child of Stewjon’. A word for kinship, followed usually by a word that offered hope- and what a hope it was.

 _“A- a chance to save the Jedi?”_ he asked, disbelieving and dumbfounded.

“Why, I should hardly go to such lengths to waste your time on anything less, should I?”

“I- I thought we already _established_ that should such a thing be possible, I am precisely the last person who would be capable of it.”

“Edraicharn!” yelled the phantom.

_“Name-forgotten.”_

An old phrase, he recalled. Thousands of years past, when Stewjon was a haven of the Force, every child who wielded it would be given a name with a certain meaning, one they were prophesised to live up to. The days when the Holy Order of the Whills had ruled in theocracy on Stewjon were long gone, and the tradition long-forgotten and discontinued, but the phrase remained.

It stood for one who had forgotten what their name meant, who had ceased travelling upon their rightful path, deemed their birthright and none else’s. It had devolved into an insult among family for their black sheep- but it was meant in an archaic sense. 

“I- I was named in accordance with the old tradition?” Obi-Wan asked. Come to think of it, he had never quite known what his name meant. No matter how many dictionaries of Stuujak he perused, it never formed anything coherent.

 _“Obi-Wan-Ken-Obi. Cosmos, son of the Void.”_ said the spectre, lightning striking the ground around him once more.

 _“Cosmos, son of the Void?”_ asked Obi-Wan. It was a half-scoff, as if such a grand name was ludicrous to him.

“You were named by a Whill, _Stuuken,_ as was I. Forever are they bound, the Whills and the Je’daii. The Whills teach; the Je’daii realise.” said the phantom, voice carrying a hint of fondness. 

“The… Je’daii? The precursor to the Jedi, who lived- what was it- twenty-five thousand years ago? Forgive me if I am mistaken, but on account of your number of references to them, is it too much to estimate that you were one of them?”

“Ah, no. That I am not, although in all but name. I was once as much a Jedi as your Master Yoda is, and I had a Jedi Master, although my true teacher was Je’daii. Tell me, however, Obi-Wan “The Negotiator” Kenobi, surely someone of your reputation knows to enquire after a prospective ally’s identity before speaking with them?” he asked, with a very, very slight undercurrent of amusement.

Even now, even when he was far beyond caring, the tips of Obi-Wan’s ears flushed very slightly red from embarrassment. None would notice it, save perhaps Anakin, Qui-Gon or Master Windu- but te phantom did.

“Ah, sorry, forgive me, I, er, merely thought a name would mean nothing to me, Ancient One.”

“Force, that is quite the overly grand title, isn’t it? Biel Ductavis, at your service.”

Obi-Wan paled.

 _Biel Ductavis._ Oh, he knew the name well- anyone who paid the same devout attention to the history of the Jedi Order as he did would.

“Grand Master, a thousand apologies!” Obi-Wan said, flushed. He could not believe he had been so- so _weak,_ so _pathetic,_ in front of this great spirit among all-

“What will you do, kneel? Hush, Stuuken. There is no need for all of this. I’m only trying to help you.”

“But- you- your spirit- you said it was bound to me?”

“As soon as I felt you in the underworld of the Force, I latched onto your spirit. The transition was willing. There is no need to worry.”

Obi-Wan forced calming breaths upon himself, resuming his stance as the iron-willed Jedi Master.

“I did not know you were of Stewjon, Master Ductavis. There is nothing in the records.”

“Ah, well, Ten Thousand Years will do that to even the most permanent knowledge.” said the ancient Grand Master of the Jedi, the one who had overthrown the Pius Dea and the evil Chancellors of the Contispex Dynasty, putting an end to their xenophobia and genocides.

“It is an honour, Master Ductavis, to meet the one who threw down the Republic in its darkest time and forged it anew in an image of light.”

“And it is a tedium to meet one who is so generous with his vocabulary. Force, I thought _I_ was the overly articulate one- but there is much to teach. Come to the Mountain of Auld Scyld and await me there; there is much to teach.”

Hope renewed, Obi-Wan looked up at the greatest of the grey peaks beyond the undulating grassland.

“Auld Scyld. Old Shield. Most windward of all the Iron Mountains in Stewjon.” Obi-Wan recalled, with a smile. It would have to do.

“Indeed. Don’t fear the storm; it shan’t strike you. Your sorrow and suffering channels the Dark Side, serving as a counterbalance to the Light- and so long as you remain calm, it should be fine. Scale quickly; consider it a test, if you will.”

“I- pardon me, but I have one last question. This Storm is of the Force, as you said- would it be too much trouble to tell me how it came to be? In the wrong hands, it could be a devastating weapon-“

“Be glad that it shan’t be ‘wielded’ by the wrong hands, then. A Force Storm of this sort may only be summoned either by a meeting of two equal, powerful minds in the light and the dark side, or individually by a Je’daii.”

“How- you said _you_ weren’t causing the storm; you said it was my fault. How could I do something of this magnitude?”

“It is an ancient Je’daii art. As you shall learn, my presence has created a state of _Bendu;_ of Balance. Your imbalance has affected and skewed it, and the Force always seeks balance- hence the energy would be discharged towards you. First a warning. Next, a fatality.”

Obi-Wan scratched his beard, coming to understand it.

“Am I right in saying that if I were to impose balance in the Force upon my surroundings as a Je’daii, and anybody were to so much as disturb that by even the slightest use of the Light or Dark Side- a devastating Force Storm would simply… _deal…_ with them?”

Master Ductavis smiled. “The weapons of a Je’daii are sophisticated, for a Je’daii never wields them. He hands them to an opponent so that they, with all their power, may destroy themselves. Your foes will be the architects of their own destruction- but first, you must learn. I shall speak again at Auld Scyld; there is nothing more for you here.”

And Obi-Wan, vigour renewed, climbed the difficult mountain by sheer Force of Will.

* * *

“By my right as Jedi Master, by the will of the Force, I, Obi-Wan Kenobi, forfeit my rank and order and cease my service as a Knight of the Republic.”

“For your actions as a dutiful Jedi, remembered, you will be.”

It had been years, several years, since Mace Windu had truly let a tear slip from his eyes. Not even when Depa had been… _taken…_ had he felt so sorrowful.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, the best damned knight of the Jedi Order, the epitome of what a Jedi should be, had just declared his resignation.

Master Windu did not care how pathetic he, once the Master of the Order, looked turning away from the scene instead of _facing it_ like the Korun he should be, but he did turn away.

He turned away right as the pearlescent, deliquescent drop fled his eye and formed a gentle rivulet.

“By my forfeiture of rank, I forfeit my right to this. It has served me well, and should this service be etched in memory, I wish it remembered only for the good of the Order.”

“For its service to you as serve the Republic you did, honoured it shall be.”

Master Yoda’s ears drooped as he accepted the blade of brilliant azure, and Mace knew that should he have been the one to have taken it, he’d drop it. His friend had suffered too much, eternally too much.

Obi-Wan had always been consigned to sorrow.

“By the strength that has borne me and the winds that have carried me, I abandon my need for this. No longer shall I walked cloaked and marked as a Jedi.”

Obi-Wan unfurled his cloak and folded it, laying it neatly at Yoda’s feet.

“For the light that through it shone, for the strength of deeds past done, hallowed it shall be.”

The ritual continued, and Mace could not be helped but reminded. The last time this had happened, it was Yoda who had taken great, shuddering breaths and Mace who had offered support. Yet he could not dwell on Dooku now.

The man had become leader of the Separatists and a vile Sith. Whatever friendships there had once been between himself and Mace were now utterly ended- but he could not help but wonder. Was Obi-Wan, too, headed down that path?

 _No,_ he told himself. _No._

Obi-Wan was so firmly rooted to the light that he _could not_ fall. It was true that Mace sensed a new darkness in him, but- he knew he would have been unable to sense the darkness if Obi-Wan had been shielding.

Even after the tragedy that had indubitably happened, Obi-Wan trusted them.

_“By the starlight of Ashla and the balenight of Bogan, I depart these hallowed halls, to wherever my path shall take me. I trust in the Force, forever may it guide me, and through light and darkness, I shall find a path or make one.”_

He hadn’t heard that one before.

What startled Mace was that it sounded _nothing_ like the tenet of a Jedi.

He carefully turned to see Master Yoda betraying an expression of shock, staring suspiciously at Obi-Wan.

The former Jedi did nothing but stare dispassionately on, raising an eyebrow like a consummate politician- the breed that Mace knew he personally despised.

It was as if to say ‘ _I did not ask for a break in the ceremony, Master Yoda_ ’.

A long silence stretched before Yoda replied in kind, employing another phrase Mace had never before heard.

“By piety of Je’daii, by passion of Sidhe, surround you shall the Force, and open the path shall be till end, your days do.”

Obi-Wan stepped back and gave a long, low bow, with Mace snapping himself out of sentimentality and doing the same.

Master Yoda gazed at them both, eyebrows furrowed.

“Ancient Phrase, that is. Speak of the Je’daii, you do.”

If Obi-Wan thought anything of it, it was concealed exceedingly well.

“Another of the reasons why I left, Master. Call it selfishness if you must, but I desired for this last… _moment…_ to be unique, in its own way. A great deal of time whiled away in research in the archives is effective to that end. As I am no longer a Jedi, I do hope you shall not hold such matters against me.”

Master Yoda shook his head, his ears drooping further. Seldom did the Grand Master seem as ancient as the sum of his years; he did now.

“A Jedi will you _always_ be, Obi-Wan. Take that from you, nothing can. Seen it I have. Forsake our ways, you never shall. That you are not. Jedi you are- _Jedi,_ purest meaning distilled are you. What we must be, define you do.”

Mace could not agree more, but Obi-Wan only gave a chuckle, seeming bitter- and somehow _shattered._

There was something that had _broken,_ some event that had taken place to have crumbled the Jedi Master’s iron will. Mace personally suspected his former padawan, considering how he had not even met with Obi-Wan after the debacle.

Skywalker seemingly had grieved, what with how he had shut himself in his room and refused to talk to anybody, but had begun spending a great deal of time outside the Temple and in the Senate during Obi-Wan’s two-week retreat to Stewjon, the time when he had surely come to the decision.

“I only wish I had your faith in me, Master Yoda- but I have come to a crossroads from which I cannot decide my path, not while duty binds me. What I have done _must_ be done, I know only this- and I can only hope for what I must do, that I have the strength to do it. I thank you for giving me that strength, Masters.” said Obi-Wan, and Mace stopped himself before he stepped off and hugged the man, as if to keep him in place.

Obi-Wan was his dearest friend short of his padawan, Depa, and his Master, T’ra Saa- and it was with a pang that Mace realised he filled the void that Qui-Gon Jinn had left.

“Then go, Obi-Wan. Do what the Force tells you- but so long as I am alive, our doors will _always_ be open to you.” he said, years of mastery over his emotions through Vaapad keeping his voice steady and stern. How Mace wished that he could enumerate the very long list of reasons why Obi-Wan _should_ stay- but that was not his prerogative. He hated making others’ decisions for them, whatever Skywalker and his entourage of politicians may think, and he would leave even his dearest friend to whatever end he wished.

Obi-Wan turned his head to the side, observing him, and Mace distinctly felt the beginnings of a headache. Focusing closely, he saw the _cracks-_ the _lines._

_A Shatterpoint._

Of course.

Master Kenobi was one of the few Jedi to heal more shatterpoints than he generated- and he was usually so calm, such a brilliant example of a Jedi that no shatterpoint could be found upon his presence.

Not so now- it seemed as if his presence entirely _was_ a shatterpoint.

Bringing himself back to the physical world, Mace studied Obi-Wan’s eyes. To those who knew him, Obi-Wan felt things as intensely as any other, but his face never betrayed emotion. To read Master Kenobi, one must see his eyes, for the entirety of his depth of feeling was mired in those blue-green irises.

 _Sadness,_ Mace felt. _Infinite Sadness._

He doubted he had ever felt the depths of sorrow he did from Obi-Wan- not even Yoda, in the days he mourned friends long lost, had seemed to radiate such a sense of preponderance. He could not understand, could not comprehend what had gone _wrong-_ but as a Jedi, he could only wish the best for his friend.

Now that Obi-Wan had chosen to leave them, Mace could not watch out for him anymore. And by the Force, the Master of the Order _hated_ such a predicament, as no Jedi should.

“We shall see, Master Windu. We shall see. The Force teaches mercy, and so I shall not hold you to that promise- but if indeed it is observed, by some miracle, it will be the greatest kindness anyone has ever done to me. Farewell, Masters. I now leave the only home I have ever known.”

“Farewell, Obi-Wan, and I assure you, I will do _everything_ to maintain that promise.” Mace said firmly, brooking no argument.

He who was once Master Kenobi bowed and left, for what would be the final time.

When fatigued, most Jedi favoured retiring to their quarters for meditation- not so Mace. Mace only meditated when his mind was calm and utterly fluid, to make the most of his time immersed within the Force. To achieve that state of calm, the Vaapad Master’s method was different from most Jedi in that it involved obliterating opponents in the Training Salles.

Oh, how he wished Skywalker was his opponent- but Skywalker was nowhere to be seen these days, wasn’t he? Master Fisto, then, would have to do. He’d apologise for any violence on his part later.

“A word, if you would care, Master Mace.”

He turned to see the ancient Grand Master looking pointedly at him, and relaxed his shoulders as the subtle cue that he had chosen to wait.

“Words of mystery, Obi-Wan spoke. Worried for him, I am- but worried, as well, for the Galaxy. Of Je’daii, he spoke- taken their name no one has. Only academic were Je’daii oaths- heh, for centuries, so they were. Prophetic, they may be.”

Mace waited and listened. Such speculation of lore was tedious, and nothing could be deduced accurately- but Obi-Wan seldom did anything without a purpose. He suspected his spar would have to wait; they would now both surely lose a great deal of sleep discussing the matter.

* * *

It had been several millennia since Grand Master Biel Ductavis had truly been pleased. Bonded as he was to Kenobi, rightful heir to the Je’daii Order, he sent a heady rush of enthusiasm his way to temper the former Jedi’s excessive restraint and candour.

“Come now, Obi-Wan, are you not in the least bit excited? We leave for _Tython,_ the ancient home of the Jedi Order and the Je’daii before them. A mystical planet where the Force is at its greatest strength. And you, I suspect, will remain dour through it all.”

Obi-Wan, by now accustomed to his spectral friend, responded with a mental huff.

“I can hardly afford enthusiasm when there is work to be done. You said that Tython would be dangerous for me if I have not achieved perfect balance, after which you quite blatantly said I have not achieved balance.”

“If only my other students paid as much attention as you do- but yes, being Je’daii means Balance in all things- even in Force-walking. You bound a willing candidate and a Jedi to yourself; pray tell, what must now be done?”

“Hmm. We search for an unwilling candidate, and a Sith. I can’t say I’m looking forward to a devil’s advocate bound to my spirit myself.” he said, rather more nonchalantly than one would expect. Master Ductavis himself was surprised at how much this man was willing to do to save the only family he’d known, no matter at what cost to himself. “Where to, Master?”

“Malachor.”

“That dead Sith hell? There better be rather a good reason.”

“If we go there, we kill two Gundarks with one boulder. On Malachor roams the one spirit who can convince my teacher to take you as her last student, and train you as a Je’daii, as well as the only one with the predisposition to defy the Son of the Force for the sole reason that he exists.”

“Your- teacher still lives?” Obi-Wan asked, mystified somewhat. “After ten thousand years?” 

“In a way.”

“I do despise cryptic answers. Who, then, is this… Sith, if I may ask?”

“Well, you’ve heard of Darth Traya, haven’t you? She’s an old friend of mine, Kreia is. Within the Cosmic Force, time and energy are immaterial- so when I chose to get into a philosophical debate on the Force’s nature, having nothing better to do, I thought it’d go on for eternity and that I’d never lose.”

Obi-Wan furrowed his brow. “Let me guess. You were mistaken.”

“I was trounced.” said Master Ductavis, without a hint of regret. “She even managed to convert me to her point of view.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meet Grand Master Biel Ductavis, the mastermind behind one of the Jedi Order's finest hours in the EU and possibly one of the most significant SW characters we don't actually know anything about. 
> 
> And yes, I played SWTOR as the Sith Inquisitor and hated it but stocked up on the lore in the process. Yes, I did post before noon while I usually post after, and it may have destroyed my restraint that comes with editing. 
> 
> Finally, I invented Stuujak and the entire Culture of Stewjon for no good reason. I do hope it is bearable, as constructing a language is rather difficult. I've kept it consistent, however. I'll add a glossary if requested. Yes, I did bail myself out at one point with old Scottish English 'Auld Scyld' once but that's beside the point.


	3. The Arrival

**The Arrival**

It was seldom that one would find Count Dooku of Serenno, Leader of the Confederacy of Independent Systems and Sith Lord, in a frenzied rush. Neither did one now.

His strides were merely lengthened beyond even the grand gait he possessed, and he wore an air of forced calm and practiced patience as he hastened at once to the secret transmitter within his personal study in the palace.

The stained glass- true _glass_ of quartz, not monotonous transparisteel, beautiful in the shade or in the light, the beautiful artwork upon it always accentuated whether by bright dawn or dull dusk, let in the tiniest flickers of sunlight. Had he had time, he would have paused to gaze upon it in all its splendour, casting a shadow upon a part of his home and flickers of light in others, and subtly admired the portrait of the powerful Serennian Lord, on a high chair, handing out bread to a kneeling subject, surely standing in royal dignity and accepting the various supplications of praise offered.

To the Count’s silent disappointment, he hardly knew the halls of his rightful home as well as he would have wished; he had spent only twenty years away from the Jedi Order, and ten of them as Darth Tyranus; as such, he was very seldom left to his own comforts.

It would draw a bitter chuckle if one were to find that he still knew the hallways of the Jedi Temple as well as the back of his hand, while he hardly knew his true home to that extent. He sometimes wondered if he were truly on the correct side of this war- and then the doubts were quashed.

The once-Master Dooku had carefully and masterfully managed his fall to the Dark Side, taking care to never fall entirely to its grasp. Though it cost him in power, he persevered; his mind was his own. And he had turned not to burn the Galaxy, but to save it. Sidious was a necessary evil, the only one with the overwhelming strength to usher in a new Order.

And he, Dooku, would be part of it.

 _No,_ he reminded himself, he’d _rule_ it. He would find a way to discard Sidious when possible- but now, he had not nearly the power of his master, and no means. He would let the Empire rise, he would stay at the forefront- and then, with the aid of a choice individual, he mused darkly, he would rise as the true Emperor.

Was it, by chance, a deception of the Dark Side? A delusion fed to him by a dark whisper of one of its tendrils? No; he dismissed the very thought. His choices were his own. _His own._

_…His own._

He shook his head, looking at his feet, which still marched. It would not do to be plagued by the increasing doubts he was every day before the impending invasion of Coruscant. There were only weeks to go, now- they had had to relocate their capital from Raxus Prime to Utapau, and the only bastions that had not fallen to the Republic were the Pau’an sector and Serenno itself.

It would always come as a subtle warning, a silent tremor in the Force. And at once, he would be expected to drop everything, as he had done now, and answer the transmission that would begin precisely when he entered his study.

If he did not comply at once, he would be strangled till half-dead, being compelled to draw upon the Dark Side for sustenance.

Such was the terror and power of his master, Darth Sidious.

He could not help the involuntary shiver, the silent dread that he hid from even himself as he thought of the soon-to-be Emperor. Whenever his master had seen fit to choke him for his supposed ‘clumsiness’, Tyranus could do nothing, nothing in response.

Sidious was the Dark Side in its purest form, a black hole in the Force. Evil Incarnate, and a power utterly beyond him-

Which was _precisely_ why Dooku needed Kenobi.

Ever since he had learned of Master Kenobi’s famous departure from the Jedi Order six months ago, he had dreamt many a time of a scenario he dearly wished to bring about.

To see his grandpadawan kneeling before him, accepting the title of Lord of the Sith. Standing by his grandmaster’s side as they led their armies into battle- holding the leash of that Skywalker brat, and pruning him, perhaps, if Sidious’ obvious favouritism brought forth any audacity from the despicable boy.

After all, Dooku couldn’t imagine Skywalker had any express need for his one remaining flesh hand. Or his legs, for that matter- or indeed, of his head.

And yet, these thoughts accomplished little. His spies had informed him that Kenobi apparently led a humble life as a hermit on the mountainsides of his home planet, Stewjon. He was last seen climbing the treacherous slopes of Auld Scyld on the windward side, braving biting winds.

 _Such a waste,_ he mused.

He had _seen_ Kenobi’s connection to the unifying Force.

Oh, surely, Master Kenobi was a great Jedi- one of the legendary masters even now as he stood.

He had defeated a Sith Apprentice, Darth Maul, after a millennium, he had trained the so-called ‘Chosen One’ (although Dooku himself did not consider that an accomplishment- the Skywalker brat was never anything to write home about), and, above all, had been a son to Qui-Gon.

That, in Dooku’s mind, was the greatest accomplishment.

 _Qui-Gon,_ he recalled, _dear Qui-Gon._

_My dear, wayward apprentice._

Theirs was not a happy relationship; by all accounts, it had devolved into stiff, polite cordiality. Neither man had shown the other any affection, and that was initially how Dooku had willed it- their partnership was one of cold, perfect understanding.

How he hated that now, when Qui-Gon was… _gone._ Qui-Gon, who had no right to leave them, and indeed no basic consideration for others when he decided to foolishly sacrifice himself- he had now left for a place which Dooku could not find.

And as any parent, Dooku grieved when the only son he’d known had died. Qui-Gon had been so irrepressible, so _invincible-_ and then, he had been snuffed out.

It was not a worthy Sith Lord who grieved. Compassion was weakness.

Yet Dooku knew that he would wholeheartedly accept that he was weak, if it meant he could continue to wish that Qui-Gon were still alive; that he could hope to rectify his many wrongs someday.

He could do right by his old apprentice through Kenobi, he knew- but he could not _reach_ him. Slowly, the Separatists had been pushed back, as was the plan. He would now be captured, as Sidious proposed, and would have little chance to reach out to Kenobi.

He had tried to advocate an invasion of Stewjon, time and time again- but it had been for nothing.

Stewjon held little of value save old ruins and relics of history. It had mysteries of the Force that Dooku imagined he would like to solve, to spend time upon when this conflict was ended- but only if Darth Sidious would allow him, was it not?

Darth Sidious; always, always Darth Sidious.

Tyranus saw such great potential in the reality of the Sith, in the power and knowledge of a Sith, but every time he attempted to delve deeper, Sidious would block him.

It appalled him how he had been reduced to nothing but a _Shadow hand,_ instead of a true heir. He was not blind, and knew himself a servant at his master’s beck and call.

_Why do you pester me so, Kenobi?_

Thoughts of treachery would not avail him now. As Darth Tyranus, Dooku knew that his master used a truly ancient relic, a construct of the Rakatan Infinite Empire of thirty thousand years past for all his transmissions.

Activated by the Dark Side of the Force, the image would come to him, clear and cold, undetectable on any galactic frequency and untraceable by any device save those comparable in their elegance to their matchless Rakatan make.

When Sidious had had time to visit the old world, Lehon, Dooku did not know- but then again, he knew hardly anything about his master, did he not? And he knew hardly anything of the Sith, obstructed as he was by his master. Such thoughts of sedition would surely not avail him now, and so he calmed his fury and released his emotion into the Force.

It was a wonder how his learnings as a Jedi under Master Yoda had proved; he truly had not thought he would be able to call upon them in this time. And though Sidious said it kept him from his full power, Dooku was glad he could avail of both the Dark Side and the Light.

He felt the cold prickling on his nape, the Rakatan Force relic emitting a wave of the Dark Side as an indication that it had been awakened. It was well that he was a few steps from his study’s door.

Schooling his visage into a well-practiced falsity of absolute supplication, he swept open the door and knelt immediately before where he knew his transmitter was kept.

He would not raise his head, as Sidious would then surely force it back down with his dark power. The flickering of the static was enough to inform the Count that the transmission had begun, and he uttered the word that he had kept on his lips.

“Master.” he said, powerful voice at odds with the subservience of the greeting.

 _“Why, although I must say I’ve worked hard to earn that title, I don’t ever recall having been yours, Count.”_ replied a sardonic drawl that he would recognise _anywhere,_ always with that honeyed sarcasm, that dripping disdain hidden behind a flair of easy conviviality.

_What the-_

_What was he-_

_How did he-_

_By the Force, how had that-_

He raised his head in shock, to find the _very_ man he had hoped for years to find seeking him having accepted his offer- and it was Dooku who kneeled.

He supposed he ought not to be surprised. It was his grand-padawan, after all.

Here he was, having somehow disrupted Sidious’ personal method of communication and using it for his own ends, when he couldn’t _possibly_ have known.

 ** _“Kenobi.”_** Dooku growled. Into that word, he poured the depths of his frustration, his anger, his hatred. He poured the incisiveness of each of the hundred questions he had, and the utterance thrummed with power in the Force.

How characteristic of his grand-padawan to leave him speechless- but then again, no other word would suffice. There was only one word he could use to truly describe the man- and ‘headache’ did not quite cut it.

 ** _“Kenobi.”_** he repeated darkly.

“Hello there, grandmaster.”

* * *

A Dark Ship.

That was all he could call it- a Dark Ship.

He had seen nothing of the sort before- and had definitely heard nothing about it. The Hulking Bipyramidal Behemoth that shadowed Serenno’s skies could only truthfully be called ‘The Dark Ship’, as he had consigned it to being called, and he did not know where it came from.

He only knew that Kenobi was somehow on it- _flying_ it, he would venture to say.

It was the largest military construct the Count had ever seen, barring the potential Death Star that he had set the Geonosians to work upon. It had appeared on no registered hyperlane, as the only one to Serenno was stringently, vigilantly guarded and bottlenecked.

The various Providence-class cruisers that surrounded the planet with all their powerful proton cannons were all firing; not one of them seemed to make a dent.

Not even Serenno’s array of truly formidable planetary defences made a difference- the ship merely lumbered on, rotating as it did.

Serenno’s military arsenal was rivalled by few places in the Galaxy; the planet’s strength was absolute and unquestionable- yet not a dent.

Dooku mused. Perhaps he _could_ issue the order for maximum firepower, upon which the skies would be lit by a blazing inferno of destruction- perhaps that would do it- but he did not wish to make a bad impression on his soon-to-be apprentice, did he?

Kenobi had said little except to expect him, and that he would not be receiving any transmissions from one Sheev Palpatine for a good, long while. And yet, Dooku knew, he had come to join him.

_His grandpadawan had seen sense at last._

And the mysterious ship was enough of a gift, worthy of a Count of Serenno- and he would much like to study it later. Thus, he discreetly pulled up a small comm from his pocket- one that he knew was wired to all of Serenno’s transmission centres.

He gave the order, crisp and curt- “Cease all fire.”

He watched, somewhat proudly, that nobody asked for a repetition, and that nobody questioned his word. He was a good ruler, or had at least tried to be, and despite his usurpation of the planet, his people’s trust in him was absolute. He almost felt the programmers working furiously to shut down the automated systems, and the deathly blaze died out.

The Dark Ship still descended, carefully and ominously, rotating each time. Dooku watched it carefully, the clouded and smoke-laden skies hiding the details of its construction. He gave the order for an honour guard, as he expected a ‘guest’- and left it at that. Left alone on the balcony, he watched.

The thing was _massive,_ about as large as twenty _Lucrehulks,_ he’d estimate. It would cover a fair part of Serenno’s skies and entirely shadow the palatial district- it was therefore no small assumption that Kenobi had brought guests.

Despite the imperviousness of the Ship, Dooku expected no invasion under the guise of a meeting. Kenobi was surely smarter than that, or at least he would hope so. On a whim, he reached out through the Forcce, calling on the Dark Side and sending powerful, probing tendrils into the skies.

_Drizzt. Drizzt- kkkhtt!_

“Agh!” The Count could not help his gasp as he fell to his knees, clutching his forehead. He- his- his power- _he could not call on it._

_The tendrils had been, to put it simply, cut off._

The Ship was strong in the Force- and not due to any individual. The relic itself and its make resonated powerfully within the Force- and he had seen the symbol. The insignia.

How could he forget such a staple of crèchemasters’ tales within the Jedi Temple? He had even _drawn_ it, when he was but an initiate, to a croaking chuckle of Master Yoda’s.

_Dai Bendu._

_The Symbol of the Je’daii Order._

Its strong base had been the starbird, the symbol of hope now carried by the Jedi.

Its dark heart had been the supernova, the symbol of power now borne by the Sith.

And now- together. The insignia, he felt, had burned itself indelibly within his mind, for it distorted the image of the skies he saw- and due to its presence, he could no longer call upon his dark power.

Darth Tyranus was horrified.

Perhaps Kenobi _would,_ after all, dare such a brazen frontal assault- was his departure, then, a deception? He took his lightsaber from his belt, stepping back into the shadows so that none could see the crimson blade. He swung it once, twice- a squinting strike followed by a disengage and a thrust- and found that it did not at all seem as light on his fingers as it usually did.

So be it. Blocked off from the Force though he was. He _would_ meet Kenobi, and he would fall a warrior. He doubted Sidious would be fazed much- not with his pathetic toy, Skywalker to manipulate to whatever ends he wished.

Perhaps it was being closed off from the Dark Side that gave him the odd sense of attachment, but he would not care to explain it. Calming himself, the old master descended and walked out to his royal gardens, and the pebble-laden path upon which the sons and daughters of Serenno had proudly arrayed themselves, saluting him.

For all that he wished, he could only give each one of them a grim nod. He walked slowly and purposefully, taking care to look at the face of each of these men and women who had pledged themselves to his cause. There were droids as well, whether Serennian or of Techno Union make, but he had no glances to spare for their lifeless faces.

At the end of the walkway, he paused, now entirely enveloped in the Dark Ship’s shadow. He waited.

They stood in silence, each proud son of Serenno, while the ancient ship paused, floating in midair- and no ramp descended. There were only the slightest, faintest of scars on its side, gouged by the tyrannous hail of firepower- but they were nothing.

A great rumbling sound was heard- and like a great beast cracking open its maw, the pyramid’s gates retreated gradually- to reveal only darkness within.

Darkness, and a man who had strode out into the air without a care, and was stepping along it as if he were walking on any solid path, not on wisps of the wind. He stepped as easily on the air as a journeyman on a Coruscant walkway, and Dooku growled.

He had had _enough_ of the insufferably dramatic entrances of one Master Kenobi for at least sixty-six lifetimes.

* * *

It was said that only the great mysteries of the Force could draw the interest of the Sith Lord Darth Traya, but this no more held true.

Ever since her spirit was bound to that of Obi-Wan Kenobi, she had been perplexed at nearly every action the ridiculous man took- vexed, and not a little intrigued.

Though she had been bound against her proud will, she would never admit that she was the tiniest bit thankful that she could see the Galaxy as it now was through the eyes of the newly-anointed Je’daii Master.

 _“Tyranus, is he?”_ she asked him, receiving a mental nod in return. Tyranus it was- and she should have known. Surely the pretentious, haughty nobleman who would presume to be a great master but in truth knew _nothing_ would bear a name so _puerile,_ so _childish_ as that.

“Come now, be sympathetic to the old Count. A Sith Master chooses an apprentice’s name, and his, I must say, is about the most devious manipulator I have had the misfortune of knowing. It is surely a mockery.” said Kenobi. Traya spat within the Force in disgust.

_“Tyranus- It sounds as if from a children’s book. The ridiculous moniker of a boogeyman used to scare younglings to sleep.”_

“Perhaps that’s why Sidious chose it.” said the Je’daii Master, mild as ever.

_“Tyranus is a sad excuse for a Sith. He teeters between light and dark, unable to achieve true balance and is likely the most utterly foolish lord I have ever seen. He seeks power- but what is power? The ability to cause suffering, or the ability to alleviate it? The ability to enslave, or that to liberate? I have seen his mind, and he seeks the former. And so he is weak.”_

“Then are not all Sith weak?” he asked, only to humour her.

 _“Sith seek to free themselves, and to unbind themselves from the will of the Force. Sith do not BOW. He does, and to a far worse monster. Sidious is_ no true _Sith- he feels fear, as I have seen, and seeks to enslave rather than unbind.”_

“Show him some compassion then, as if you truly hate Sidious so much, he shall be perhaps our most valuable ally in destroying him.” said Master Kenobi. Traya chuckled.

_“Compassion is weakness.”_

“Another of your nasty philosophies we’ll need to talk about- but I can’t quite keep walking on the clouds forever. They’re all getting impatient, so do be so kind as to shut up.”

_“Those who lack patience lack strength.”_

“Then we shall _give_ him strength. I do not know anything about betraying a Sith Lord, but Master Ductavis tells me you’re the galactic expert on the trade. Perhaps you could help him, so that he doesn’t remain so detestable in your own eyes. Prune the weeds and let the flowers grow.” said Kenobi, and she smiled.

 _Oh, this was going to be an interesting one._ She liked Kenobi quite a bit- perhaps he would grow to even give Meetra or Revan a run for their money. If only he wasn’t so damned _good_ and bound irrevocably to the light.

And yet it was his state as a Je’daii Master that allowed him to draw such uncannily trenchant insights.

_“After all, there must always be a Darth Traya, must there not? Blinded as he is now, he still has the courage to stand before you after you deprived him of the Dark Side with that little trick of the Tho Yor. Perhaps he shall be the new one to hold my mantle.”_

“I can tell you shall enjoy tearing my grandmaster’s delusions down and informing him of just how much of a hypocritical fool he has been.”

 _“Oh, that I shall, Master Je’daii. A matter of personal interest, indeed.”_ replied the Lord of Betrayal.

They were almost upon him now. She decided she would quite like to see the shocked look on his face when he eventually uncovered the mysteries behind Obi-Wan Kenobi, First Master of the Reborn Je'daii. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The leviathan of a ship Obi-Wan flies is known as a Tho Yor. If that name isn't familiar (which it shouldn't be, or I'll have to fear the possibility that there are other evil Sith Lords like myself on this planet), then it and the lore behind it will be introduced gently. That is why I did not describe Obi-Wan's training as a Je'daii, as I have no wish to go overboard. This is primarily a Clone Wars-focused plot. 
> 
> For those who love details, this is about what Obi-Wan did-  
> i) Went to Malachor and made a 'friend'  
> ii) Went to Tython and nearly killed himself training  
> iii) Learned the Maxim that The Republic <<<<<<<< The Old Republic  
> iv) Brought his erudite 'friend' to have a 'chat' with Dooku  
> v) Doomed Dooku.


	4. The Je'daii Master

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to [ SpaceWall ](/users/SpaceWall/) in whom I found a kindred spirit as I had a ridiculous discussion about why Dooku, for all his regal calm, is really a weird nerd at heart and must receive lots of love for it. 
> 
> You're all advised to avoid their works like the Plague as they dare spread nasty, slanderous propaganda against his glorious Majesty Emperor Sheev Palpatine.

**The Je’daii Master**

He had to admit, as he saw Kenobi flip arbitrarily and perhaps superfluously from where he walked in midair and fall to land beside him in a grand sweep of his cloak, that there was little he could truly recognise about the man save the old theatrics.

Lacking the use of the Force, Dooku had only the employ of his eyes to study the former Jedi Master, and had he not _known,_ he would say the man that stood before him was as far removed from Kenobi as could be.

He was cloaked in _grey,_ and he wore full robes that swept to the floor instead of the traditional Jedi tabards. The grey swaths covered him entirely, and in a fog he would seem as a phantom. There was an ethereal quality to the way he walked- no, _glided_ as well, as if it was more natural for him to walk on wisps of air than on the ground.

His face was hidden nearly entirely by his grey mantle, with only his bearded chin on display, ginger now streaked profusely with white, and at this age.

Unnaturally aged though he looked, Dooku reminded himself that this was _his_ grandpadawan. Part of _his_ lineage, and therefore his to command. He would take his rightful place at his grandmaster’s side.

 _“Grand-padawan.”_ he greeted purposely, tones commanding and nothing warm. A bid for power, to assert dominance.

 _“Count.”_ Kenobi replied coldly, impersonally. Dooku could not help the frisson of fear that crept in his veins.

He had not said ‘grandmaster’- but then again, it was likely foolish of him to hope that he’d be warm. But then again, he hadn’t said ‘Dooku’, usually dripping with disdain, either.

And the tone- he had never known Kenobi to be so _impersonal,_ even when they were opposed. The flirtations with Ventress, the insults to Grievous- but Kenobi’s expression was utterly blank, as was his voice.

“It is good fortune that you paid heed to my words on Geonosis all those years ago. I take it you are aware of Sidious?” he asked, changing tactics. It sounded as if he were chastising a wayward pupil.

“Aware? Not as far as I should like to be, at any rate. I had come here in the expectation that you would aid me in that matter.”

Dooku allowed himself a scoff.

“Expectation? So very unlike a former Jedi such as you, Kenobi- but yes, I can indeed aid you. I trust you are aware of what I ask in turn?” he said, turning to walk with a sweep of his cloak. As was his prerogative, he expected Kenobi to fall into step beside him.

_Kenobi did not._

It took a good seven steps for Dooku to realise this, and he abruptly turned around.

“If you seek to join us, Kenobi, you shall afford your betters more _respect_.” snarled Dooku, glaring at him.

Kenobi did nothing save move his gloved hands, slowly and deliberately, to his hood before throwing it off.

Utter shock was an emotion Dooku seldom felt; dismissive of the value of appearances as the Count was, he had never expected something extraordinary about a mere face. He was wrong.

Kenobi’s visage was a land of pain and steel used to ward against it, marred with a great scar that descended from the forehead down one eye to the lip, while a parallel scar that ran as a deeper gouge marked the other cheek. Testaments to a truly brutal struggle.

Dooku knew he should command his Serennian guard to grab hold of the man, but did not. He only watched, mesmerised, and in some part pained that such a fate had befallen this brightest of stars.

With the same careful deliberation, he pried his black gloves off. Both palms were dotted with marks and crisscrossed with tiny, white scars, and yet the veins were not mottled in the least. He had been hurt many times, but had risen strong from each blow. Stowing the gloves within his robes, Master Kenobi raised his hands and Dooku felt a blast of buffeting winds; a distant roar was heard, great and terrible, and he recognised at once that it came from the Dark Ship.

His grey cloak had given way to reveal robes of pure white, and on his hip, bound by an old-fashioned _obi,_ there rested _four_ lightsabers.

“I am aware of the price, but I shall not be foolish enough to pay it as you have been. I join you and those loyal to you, Count Dooku, but I shall not aid in the slightest machination of your master, Darth Sidious.”

And with that, the clouds burst. Dooku’s connection to the Force returned with a _snap,_ and he could feel the power that burst in the air.

Outwardly, nothing was visible.

Within the Force, Dooku saw great strings that connected himself to his people, to this planet, to Kenobi. _And Kenobi was snapping these strings._

B1 Battle-droids, B-2s and Droidekas were dropping left, right and centre, as if somebody had entirely disabled their base functions. Through the Force, he recognised the ionising radiation that Kenobi had artificially created, decaying the power-cores of each droid he could find.

Not even a gesture was employed.

It took the Serennians a great deal of time to understand that Kenobi was the source- and they had raised their weapons, pointing at Master Kenobi who stood with his arms raised, destroying Separatist Automata by the hundreds- no, the _thousands._

And Dooku, master of the Force as he was, realised the true elegance of the technique: that Kenobi had not used any extraordinary power whatsoever.

No, he had only made alterations on a minute scale- perhaps even on a molecular one. He had drawn power from the Ship, from Dooku, from others, and destabilised ions in one droid, then the next; the radiation being employed to start a chain-reaction, of sorts, which increased the destruction exponentially.

There were no explosions. The droids simply- _dropped._

To achieve this, grand power was not required, for Kenobi did not have it. No, what was needed was the pinnacle of fine control, the absolute zenith of patience and meticulousness- in other words, Mastery.

And Obi-Wan Kenobi had proved himself a true Master.

 _“None shall fire save on my orders!”_ he thundered, seeing his guest threatened.

“As you say, Count Dooku!” said voice after voice officiously, from around him and from his comm, which he switched off soon after.

Kenobi- _Master_ Kenobi- had not paused, wiping out the entire droid army that surrounded them, certainly dealing a heavy blow to Serenno’s defences- but if Serenno’s Count had declared that he was not to be touched, her children would obey.

 _“Know that I am doing you a favour beyond what you deserve, Kenobi. Your offer needs must be quite lucrative for me to consider in turn.”_ said Dooku, voice turning icy.

Kenobi only dipped his head in acknowledgement, continuing as if unruffled. They stood in silence for a few minutes as the former Jedi Master obliterated the helpless machines.

Finally, he stopped, lowering his hands with the same careful deliberation. A TX-Series tactical droid was pulled from one of Serenno’s many spires that now served as control towers and defensive turrets. It did not struggle, for its circuits had been disabled by way of the Force.

The feat would have been impressive had it not been for the utterly ludicrous power unleashed before- but it was impressive nonetheless.

“I take it you have at least a… _serviceable_ explanation for all this?” said Dooku, gritting his teeth.

“What I have is for your ears only, Count.” said Kenobi, as coldly and nonchalantly as ever. Dooku refrained from so puerile a gesture as gnashing his teeth, but recognised the validity of this statement.

The Sith Lord Darth Tyranus did not himself know why he was being so… cordial, so forgiving- but in his heart of hearts, a fire had been awakened. Kenobi knew something that he did not, and his knowledge of the Force clearly extended beyond him in some spheres- and Dooku _would_ pry those secrets from him; from his cold, dead hands if it came to it.

The _hunger,_ the primordial _thirst_ for knowledge was too strong within him. He _needed_ to solve the mysteries before him, whether or not Kenobi was willing to divulge anything.

And aware of this all-consuming passion for knowledge, Darth Traya smiled.

They walked together at last, the Count and the Je’daii Master, even if Kenobi had to utterly ruin the image by dragging a battered tactical droid behind them.

* * *

To the people of Serenno, inviting one into a personal space such as a study was a gesture of the highest trust. Dooku certainly hoped it would seem so, but his façade of the magnanimous Count dropped as soon as he led Kenobi to his dark chamber.

“I trust you have an apt explanation for why you saw fit to decimate my forces?”

Kenobi had shoved the tactical droid against the wall, refusing to use the Force more than was necessary Dooku scowled, hiding it by walking up to the overlooking stained-glass window.

“The desire to destroy the taint of one such as Darth Sidious is reason enough for any drastic act save those of comparable evil.”

 _Gah, I hate it when he does that!_ thought Dooku. Of all the people who spoke insufferably in riddles- Kenobi, the most infuriating of them all. He would teach this fool some _respect._

Gathering his returned strength in the Force, Dooku threw it at Kenobi. His own power in the Force was great, and he forced it _down,_ down to pressure Kenobi’s shoulders.

He sent all his frustration, his anger and even his hatred of what the man had once been into the Force Wave, creating a current of such overwhelming power that Kenobi would have to _bend._ Either he would bend, or he would break.

Kenobi did neither.

A moment later, Dooku did not know what had happened, smashed into his own wall as he was.

His head hurt, his senses hurt, and his memory ached- he could only scarcely recall that Kenobi had immediately whirled around and made a motion as if to swat a fly, and his own force wave had been cast aside leaving nothing but a flutter in his cloak.

The next, he was- _here._

“ _…leave him… me…Je’daii…”_

_“Patience… Kreia. He…see…in time.”_

* * *

He stood on the jutting bridge of a ship of decidedly poor aesthetic; a bulkier and perhaps more unwieldy clone of the ill-advised _Malevolence._

The _Invisible Hand,_ Dooku realised. He always had hated Grievous’ hideous new flagship.

Why was he here? At once, the purpose became clear.

 _“Kenobi must die, and by your hand.”_ said the bound Chancellor Palpatine from where he sat on his chair.

Kenobi…die?

He could not… he could not kill Kenobi! His padawan’s padawan! His _grandson,_ for Force’s sake!

And yet… to question the word of Darth Sidious was to court a fate far, far worse than death.

Dooku despised being this slave, this… drooling lapdog… but he had no choice but to accept. It was logically sound. The Skywalker brat had always been the prize, in Palpatine’s eyes. Kenobi was merely to be discarded. His Master’s fall would send him plummeting to the Dark Side, and the Sith would rule once more.

He had been instructed to hold back, as he always was. He would be captured by Anakin Skywalker, stay prisoner for a few months, and then be released as Lord Tyranus in Palpatine’s empire. _That was the plan._

Only…

“The only question that remains is if he is capable of transcending the artificial limitations of his Jedi indoctrination… and that, my Lord Count, is precisely what today’s operation is designed to discover.” Sidious was saying, and Dooku cleared his throat. Though he did not trust this one bit, it would not do to show such doubt in front of Sidious.

“But… forgive me master, but Kenobi having fallen to my blade…” he tasted the words on his tongue, despising them. _Kill Kenobi._

_He could not do it without consigning himself to the Sith hells._

“…are you certain Skywalker will ever accept my orders? You must admit that his biography offers little confidence that he is capable of obedience at all.” he deflected, turning it around from his cares about his grand-padawan. Sidious gave a smile of pure evil.

“Skywalker’s power brings with it more than mere obedience. It brings creativity… and luck. We need never concern ourselves with the sort of instruction that Grievous, for example, requires. Even the blind fools of the Jedi Council see clearly enough to understand this. Even they no longer try to tell him how. They merely tell him what, and he finds a way. He _always_ has.”

And Dooku did not trust it at all.

The way Sidious spoke of Skywalker- that pathetic _brat-_ it sent shivers down the Count’s spine, experienced and unbowed as it was.

“Tyranus… are you well?” Sidious mocked, sensing his contemplation.

“Am I?” he asked himself, more than his Master, to a barely-perceptible snarl form his master. He hastily amended.

“…Yes, my Master. I am beyond well. Today, the climax… the grand finale… the culmination of all your decades of work. I find myself somewhat overcome.” Dooku lied, trying anything to cover his true sentiments on the matter.

“Compose yourself, Lord Tyranus. Kenobi and Skywalker are nearly at the door. Play your part, my apprentice, and the Galaxy… is ours.” said Sidious, sharp words hiding an undercurrent of glee.

“Thank you… Chancellor.” said Tyranus, as indication that he had moved to playing the part already. Sidious smiled with that horrific twitch again.

“Withdraw. They are here.”

* * *

“Good, Anakin, good!” said a smiling Sheev Palpatine, every bit the foster-father and wise, pleased mentor. “Kill him. Kill him now.”

The charred smell of smoking flesh came to his nose, and he realised with horror that it was his own. Two lightsabers were crossed at his throat; Skywalker’s brilliant blue as well as his own fearsome crimson.

“I shouldn’t.” said Anakin Skywalker, even though he very dearly wished to. There had never been a Jedi that had remained so close to turning a Sith for such a sum of years, and he was indeed very, very tempted.

Decades of Jedi training held him back.

 ** _“Dewit.”_** said the Chancellor, in what could only be the voice of Sidious.

And at that assurance, one look at Anakin’s eyes would assure the onlooker of his choice. It was firm, irrevocable.

 _No!_ thought Dooku. _No!_

_He couldn’t die! Not here! That- wasn’t the plan…_

* * *

**_“That… that…bastard… SIDIOUS!”_** came the yell of the half-conscious Count, frightening the royal birds from the mechano-perches of Castle Serenno.

He opened his eyes blearily. He knew it for what it was- a vision, no doubt, but it was not his own.

_No, Kenobi had caused this._

_“That self-interested coward still is more worthy of the title of Sith Lord than you ever were, ‘Lord’ Darth Tyranus.”_ said a disdainful voice.

It was aged, and feminine; there was no way it could have been Kenobi’s, and yet Kenobi was the only one in the room.

And yet Kenobi _cannot_ have said it, for his lips had not moved. Indeed, Kenobi was now sitting at the centre of the room in a meditative posture that was entirely unfamiliar to him, brow furrowed as if in concentration.

“Who is this?” he asked wearily, deciding not to inject his anger into the word. If it truly was a phantasm, he would be better served by controlling his emotions if it was to be a hallucination.

 _“One who sees far further than your sightless eyes ever shall.”_ came the mocking reply. It stirred Dooku’s pride, but the Count could do nothing about it.

Once again, Jedi training came to the fore; he decided to treat it as a test of his patience and resolve. He would say nothing.

“You do not exist corporeally, and have yet some knowledge of the Sith. It follows, then, that you are a spirit of the Force.”

 _“Yes, that is perhaps the crudest definition of the matter.”_ said the voice again.

“You cannot have been part of my own mind, or I will have purged your influence.” said Dooku with certainty, playing the spectre’s game.

The spectre gave a scoff.

 _“I would never demean myself by binding myself to a mind so limited as yours.”_ it spat. _“And do not be too confident of your lack of delirium, Count. Why, I should say that to make the decisions you have, I would be concerned that you existed in a state of permanent delirium.”_

“Although I do not care for your insults, spirit, I shall bear them if they are an obstacle between myself and the decipherment of this mystery.” Dooku said eloquently, at which the spectre seemingly sighed.

 _“Kenobi should never have looked to a fool such as you. Truly, a Je’daii Master should know better. Hubristic, arrogant, young prat. You are no more a master, as you call yourself, than a pitiful farmer who has learned to produce a marginally better crop than usual!”_ came yet another insult, and Dooku’s pride would not allow him to accept it any longer.

“Who is this?! Show yourself!”

_“A demand? Most interesting- and here I thought you a servile fool. I am Kreia- but if that name does not mean anything to you, perhaps… Darth Traya would.”_

Dooku nearly stumbled in shock, catching himself finally with all his masterful control.

Darth Traya? _And she spoke?_

“How-“

 _“Look deeper, boy.”_ said Kreia, words chosen carefully to rankle.

And so Dooku did.

He cast his presence in the Force towards that of his grandpadawan, feeling for his strength- and he found nothing. His presence, usually as a sunlit meadow of tranquillity within the Force, was now hidden behind maze after maze. It seemed utterly blank.

Mazes that Dooku knew he could not, could never penetrate until he knew more.

 _“Pains me to advocate this act of docility as it does, you must let_ him _in.”_ said Kreia, and Dooku obliged.

Slowly, he let his own mental walls crumble, letting his grandpadawan’s powerful yet somehow still unobtrusive presence in. He could sense no tranquil meadow- the presence within his mind remained utterly blank.

And then he felt renewed, rejuvenated as he had not in years. The rot and fester of the Dark Side within him was pulled slowly away, and his thoughts became clear once more.

In that moment, he saw the renewed power of Obi-Wan Kenobi. Tides of the Force rising around him as both shield and weapon, his spirit thrummed with the might of _thousands._

“You are not alone.” said Dooku, in wonder, as he felt the brush of spirit after spirit of the Force.

“Perhaps I deserve to be.” said Kenobi, opening his eyes. “And yet, I never truly was. It is only now that I know to recognise and listen to the voices that have guided me.”

It would be incorrect to call Kenobi a _storm_ or a _tempest_ in the Force as Skywalker was; indeed, the depths of his own power were not so great. It was rather that the storm surrounded him and obeyed his will, its winds created by the power of the departed spirits that were bound to him.

Kreia was the most prominent of these- and yet, among them, Dooku could sense another presence as well, one that would resonate deeply with the ideal of a Jedi Master.

Kenobi’s own spirit lay at the heart of this storm, the calm eye around which the tempestuous winds swirled. Subtly powerful and always in control.

He was _glorious,_ and Dooku could not have been more proud to acknowledge that he had come from his lineage.

He drew himself from the Force’s currents to look at the former Jedi. He had thrown off his hood, and his spirit was aged beyond what he truly was- and yet, despite the streaks of white that clouded his now lengthened locks, despite the many scars that marred his face, Dooku would still maintain that he looked as fetching as ever.

If nothing else, when worlds eventually seceded and came to them, the task would be far easier, indeed, if the leaders happened to be female- or scratch that, anybody with good eyesight.

And still, Dooku found that he could not help himself when the ridiculous statement came to mind.

“You look terrible.”

Kenobi _snorted,_ coldness of manner gone. “Tython will do that to you, especially if you use time-anomalies in hyperspace to stay three years and return in six months.”

- _What?_

This was preposterous- it was _ludicrous,_ impossible- and yet Dooku believed him.

“Tython?! The ancient home of the Jedi? You… navigated the treacherous Deep Core and found your way there?”

“Not without a number of happy landings involved.” said Kenobi, and Dooku forced years of learning under Yoda to his mind to supress his own snort.

“You… forgive me if I appear undignified, but- _what have you become, Grandpadawan?”_

Kenobi- no, _Obi-Wan,_ he reminded himself, turned around and walked to the same window as Dooku had, clasping his hands behind him.

“You have heard of the Je’daii Order, have you not, Count?” he asked, as if in passing. Dooku latched onto his every word.

“Je’daii- _ah, yes, the Je’daii._ The ancient progenitors of the Jedi Order, said to espouse tenets of balance- why, they have been gone nearly twenty-five thousand years! It is a miracle, indeed, that you could have found their teachings after this time…”

 _“Shortsighted fool!”_ spat _another_ voice, and he knew it for precisely what it was.

“What purpose does _she_ serve?” he asked his grandpadawan, who sighed and turned around.

“My lord Count, you seem to be labouring under the misconception that I have discovered Je’daii teachings by finding holocrons or texts on Tython. If you would only care to look deeper, you would know that my knowledge extends far deeper than that.”

Dooku refrained, yet again, from licking his lips at being told of knowledge and power he could potentially acquire, choosing instead to raise his eyebrow in a well-practiced political gesture of disbelief.

“Truly?”

“Your conclusions are your own to draw, but I shall say that I had a Je’daii Master, and have earned the rank myself. I have seen the starlight of Ashla and the Balenight of Bogan, and have stood at the pinnacle of Akar Kesh were time stands still.”

Dooku could scarcely believe himself- indeed, he had not even entertained the notion that he would live to see the day, or that anyone ever would.

“Your ship… a _Tho Yor…”_ he said in a soft whisper one would never associate with Darth Tyranus, recalling all the old tales which he had never believed were true.

 _“There is always some truth in the legends.”_ said Obi-Wan, as if he had read his mind. Dooku was convinced of the firmness of his mental shields- but it seemed Obi-Wan had acquired a curious ability to read and deduce the thoughts of people.

He would wonder at how similar it was to Sidious’ own proclivity in the matter, had he not had anything but pride, disbelief, shame and hope in equal part within his mind.

“It seems I was mistaken. I have made a fool of myself, as ever. I was under the delusion that you were lost, but have found now that you have found a path more firm than I ever did. After all, the grey path lit by shadow never did lead one astray.” said the Count, recalling the old phrase.

It had been a heresy of the Jedi Order, mere trivia meant to be asked in a history examination. To see his grandpadawan truly walk that path- to know that he could still walk it as well…

“You know the price I ask.” said Obi-Wan, all the cards in his hands.

“To betray Sidious? Why not use him? If you truly are a Je’daii, then you shal cast aside your attachments to your former friends and let the future run its course, would you not? It is far better that we let Sidious believe we work for him, and betray him at the last…”

 _“Sidious” -_ said Obi-Wan with a rare snarl, rounding on him – _“cannot_ be trusted. You’ll notice that I hauled a tactical droid here and destroyed your army- that was because each droid has a chip that allows it to be reprogrammed directly from Coruscant, or wherever Sidious would find himself! Had I not destroyed them, you would have been slain as easily as an insignificant insect if you entertained thoughts of betrayal!”

Dooku was tempted to argue with him- a reprogramming protocol? _Here,_ in the sanctity of Serenno? His own _homeworld?!_

And yet, he recalled the vision. Dooku frowned. It was entirely possible that the vision was a falsehood, manufactured by his grandpadawan with his strange new abilities, but…

Who would he trust?

Obi-Wan Kenobi or Darth Sidious?

And as soon as he thought of the question, it seemed _absurd._ He felt like a fool for ever having needed to have thought about it at all.

 _“I believe you.”_ said Dooku, steel in his voice, narrowing his eyes and facing the Je’daii Master with a firm conviction.

At first, he thought that Obi-Wan would smile- but he did not. The corners of his mouth nearly twitched up, but he restrained himself.

Dooku suspected that Obi-Wan had not smiled in a long time, looking as if he might as well have forgotten how to.

He knew that should he attempt a smile to offer whatever solidarity he could, he would himself fail, and miserably.

_Much to learn, we still have._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Force Power Obi-Wan uses to annihilate Dooku's army is just the speciality Light Side power from KOTOR, 'Destroy Droid' ('Ionise' in the HD edition), except on a far grander scale. 
> 
> Obi-Wan's nonsensical riddle shall be explained later, but for the sake of context,
> 
>  **Tython** is a planet in the Deep Core (which is fraught with wormholes and other anomalies) that served as the ancient home of the Je'daii. 
> 
> **Ashla and Bogan** were its two moons, the former (strong with the Light Side) always illuminated while the latter (strong with the Dark Side) was always in a shadowy gloom due to an anomalous orbit. 
> 
> **Akar Kesh,** the Temple of Balance, was the greatest of the Je'daii Temples on Tython.


	5. The Plot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I have finally established what tone I should like to write the story in. Every fifth chaoter shall be from Obi-Wan's 'journal', if it can be called that, with the others proceeding as always.

**The Plot**

It began, quite simply, as one might expect. Had I accounted for the utter foolishness that runs within the Galaxy, it would doubtless have made my plans easier by far.

The Count is, in various subtle and insidious ways, the consummate politician and quite the masterful one at that. After all, the culmination of the Separatist plot, the declaration of the great heist and the success of the Grand Plan was worth the notice of the entire Separatist Council.

They shall die here; every last one of them save those that do not bear the taint of Sidious and shall acquiesce to serve the Galaxy. That I swear, by my rank as a Je’daii Master and as heir to the Tythan Legacy.

I am still not quite used to the title ‘Lord Protector’ as Dooku has insisted I be called- cursed be his superfluous arrogance and his damned pride. The man is a fool- but at least he knows his limits now, and shall aid me. That is more than I can say for most. I am, at least, ‘General Kenobi’ no longer- for that name bears only the mark of a traitor.

To organise a conference on Serenno more covertly than most would be quite the difficult matter, as most Separatist Leaders are entirely within the thrall of Sidious and ensnared by his false promises. To those such as the chillingly psychopathic scientist Wat Tambor, the coldly apathetic hoarders San Hill and Shu Mai, and, of course, the utterly despicable Nute Gunray, I am sure the Count has told the most exquisite lies, thanking them profusely for their participation and announcing that Lord Sidious would have them rewarded in proportion.

They shall fall this day.

For Poggle the Lesser of Geonosis and Tikkes of Mon Cala, it shall mean another chance, and their final one. They shall be spared, for Dooku assures me they are loyal to his cause. I trust neither of the three, but need Dooku’s aid foremost; as such, I shall envisage to comply. They were as such furnished with a more moderate lie, devoid of Sidious. Their lack of basic decency assures me that none else will be informed.

I do not take any joy or pleasure in their demise, though I am wont to at the erasure of these Cankers of the Galaxy’s fruit. It is not murder. I only do what I must.

The execution shall be elegant, as befits one of the Je’daii. Ships of great power and extravangant in their make touch down on Serenno’s beautiful soil, the wicked henchmen of Sidious that own them filing out- each to grand pomp and procession, as is the Count’s design.

A wing of Castle Serenno shall suffer this day, for it is foolish to assume that these haughty leaders would ever accept had Dooku not invited them into the sanctity of his own home.

A round table is laid with a feast, each leader allotted their seat, the cuisine catered specifically to the tastes of each. Dooku has been immaculate and precise- perhaps there is hope for him yet.

I shall be already in the room, of course, cloaked entirely in black and with my arms together. With me stand five bearded Serennians, dressed exactly as I am. If I am not unique among them, my presence shall not be noticed. I do not ask their names; merely search there mind for the strong roots of loyalty, which I find in every one.

We shall all stand as one, faces hidden under hoods. The Separatists will have questions, of course, but under Dooku’s wiles they should be kept to themselves. Dismissed as some intricacy of Serennian culture, perhaps.

They have been informed of the plan, of course. In the centre of the room lies a ceremonial chalice, massive and inlaid with gold. I assume it is an intricacy of Serennian culture, as is the overabundance of Cloaks. Within it sits an Ebon Crystal, taken from a necklace of them I found on Tython.

The Ebon Crystals of the Rakatan Infinite Empire that ruled thirty millennia ago are terrible weapons; volatile, and designed to seek and kill. It is only the power and balance of a Je’daii Master that may control the energies of them, and so I have.

The dark power shall be unleashed within them, in time.

* * *

A great fanfare of trumpets and a myriad of other instruments are heard, and the doors are thrown open, with servants bedecking the floor in carpets of the richest variety.

In walks Dooku, every bit the charming and charismatic leader of the CIS. His powerful voice carries across the room as easily as does Padmé’s in the Senate- only that he is escorted by the very lackeys that Senator Amidala faces off against every day.

Their babble is pointless; their discussion futile.

“Has Lord Seedioos given his assurance that we are to be saafe?” asks a weaselling, snivelling voice- Nute Gunray’s. He has apparently been as much a pain for Dooku as he has for us- but he shall be seen to soon. In a fit of bitter revenge, the Count has arranged it so that he be placed closest to the centre of the room- nearest to the Chalice and the Ebon Crystal. In his arrogance, the Viceroy will no doubt suspect nothing.

“Lord Sidious has given his word that you shall be rewarded handsomely, when at last we have peace. I know only that you are to reach the Utapau system, and are to be given control of your own sector sin the Galaxy as governors- ‘Moffs’, or so he says, with worlds to do with as you please.”

Gunray bares his spindly teeth and looks inquisitively. No doubt he shall be suspicious, working for a master such as Sidious, and shall seek assurance- but the Count is no lesser master of deception.

“And vhot if thees fails? Shood the Jedi catch upto us, we will be rooined! We must haaf collateral!”

“I am but a Count, Viceroy Gunray, where you seek to gain the favour of an Emperor. Surely, you should ask him. Captured temporarily as I shall be, I myself know little of the details.”

As expected, that silences him.

There are few who do speak, all awaiting the Count. On one side are San Hill of the IG Banking Clan, and Shu Mai of the Commerce Guild, speaking in hushed tones about postwar finances and possible exploitation.

It has been arranged such that Duke Poggle and President Tikkes are placed in the two seats in front of me on the other side- for they must not die. The Geonosian sits down with a number of clicks and chirps in their queer tongue, while the Quarren does so with a number of stiff burbles. Both turn to look at me, at which I move not a muscle, and narrowing their eyes, they withdraw.

Wat Tambor of the Techno Union is the first to speak.

“The Techno Union is honoured to have aided you, Count. We- _fweebubwoob-_ look forward to supplying the Galactic Empire in eventual time.” said the psychopathic scientist, with an insufferable turn of the knobs in his pressure suit. Je’daii as I am, I cannot help but thank the relief that I shall feel when freed eternally of that cacophony. I suspect Dooku agrees.

“And it is an honour, my friend, to have relied upon the talents of geniuses such as yourself and your employees to keep ourselves and our agendas safe.” replies Dooku, at which Foreman Tambor raises his head in a gesture of an engineer’s pride.

_Fool._

Holowan shall serve us, or so Dooku says, having been raised to his prestige by the Count’s patronage- but destructive as they are, their IG-88s and IG-100 units cannot form the bulk of our troops. The B1s and B2s of the Techno Union are still of the essence, woefully inefficient as they are, to redirect the major volume of fire from our better units.

And so, Skako must be conquered, as must every base of the Techno Union and all of its conglomerates. Every last scrap of Tambor’s make must be taken for the CIS if we are to survive. And for this task, Dooku has seen fit to assign none but the damnable General Grievous.

My dislike of the good General apart, I am concerned for his loyalties. I have seen it in my visions that he shall be content to accept Sidious’ orders should Dooku die, and sputter out like a candle on Utapau- apparently at my hand.

And yet Dooku assures me that he is trustworthy, and is proud of his training. He shall not betray the teacher who made him stronger, as he still holds his ideals to heart.

Grievous was apparently of the Kaleesh once, and that brutal people have a strict code of honour- but I do not know how close that remains to the heart of this monster who slaughtered Jedi after Jedi.

However, I cannot be in every place at once- and I must stay here, to coordinate the defence against the eventual strike on Serenno. It shall not be long before Sidious learns that his apprentice has betrayed him, and when he does, the Republic shall unleash its might in full force- in fact, that is one of the factors I count on.

Firstly, a civil war shall begin, between the faction loyal to Dooku and the lackeys of Sidious. The Je’daii arts allow me to sense the taint of the Dark Lord in an entity, whether man or machine, and in the past few days, we have surrounded ourselves only with droids that cannot be reprogrammed from Coruscant.

I suspect Master Kreia enjoyed it rather deeply when I revealed to Dooku that several of his own droids had chips implanted in them so that they could accept direct orders from Sidious when necessary- and that these were specifically the best of his droids save those he ordered made himself.

It is good fortune that I have arrived at the time of the purported invasion of Coruscant, when the last of the Separatists’ resources are being gathered en masse; as such, the ‘corruptible’ droids were easily replaced by way of a simple marching order.

“Gentlemen. Ladies. Brothers and Sisters.” the Count begin, and all know that these are formalities. These leaders are all quite aware of their own depravity, and know that Dooku calls them such for the sake of politeness.

“In a few days, we invade Coruscant. While there, we shall ensure the ultimate end to the Jedi and all our enemies. Chancellor Palpatine shall die, and Lord Sidious shall rise in his place. I myself must depart for a few months spent in honourable captivity as a prisoner of war- but I assure you, this is part of Lord Sidious’ plans.”

“Hear, hear.” said Tambor again, and I waited.

Thoughts ran across my mind as he spoke- Grievous should have been given the entirety of the details regarding Tambor and his Techno Union’s bases. The General’s ruthlessness combined with my stratagem should assure us of victory, though he shall not know that my hand is behind the operation.

I can only hope that he does not waste too many of our resources and wantonly destroy too many of theirs, for he has been assigned orders to capture what he can. It shall be then that the _Invisible Hand_ and Grievous’ fleet are called back to Serenno.

The Republic should have arrived then, as Dooku’s fleet holds them off. Grievous’ entry should hopefully be an unexpected flanking, allowing us to trap the Republic’s Venators between Hammer and Anvil.

My one gripe remains that the destructive and hateful Grievous does not do great damage to the Anvil- and I know better than to hope that when he arrives, he shall endeavour to take captives and not kill, as I shall.

There are too many variables, as always- but a Je’daii Master is no stranger to any challenge. A Je’daii welcomes challenge, for it offers one a chance to persevere and overcome.

Even when I was not Je’daii, I was no different.

* * *

I wonder how twisted my thoughts have become, now that I have seen things darker and more terrible than a human mind should, by rights, be able to fathom.

I have seen the starlight of Ashla and the balenight of Bogan; I have fallen into the chasm of Anil Kesh, where the Force is at its most mysterious. There, I had fought and had been slain by the Sith Lord Darth Vader- and slain though I was (I bear the scar still), I rose again. Not as Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, but as Lord Kenobi of the Je’daii.

Perhaps it was a vision. Perhaps it was truth- I shall never know. Yet I do know that I am no longer the same Master Kenobi, and he would likely have been appalled at my rather blasé dismissal of the prospect of violence to achieve my aims. Let him be horrified, then- I myself cannot now afford mortification.

I have failed all my life. I failed my master, such that his last words carried not a care for my well-being, but only that for his would-be apprentice. I failed my master in that he fell and I lived, and I feel to this day that the Galaxy would have been better had the opposite come to be.

By living and training him, I failed Anakin, who is now more Vader than he ever was my padawan. I failed the Republic, letting it drown within the grasp of a Sith Lord. I failed the Jedi by not seeing the deception sooner.

I failed Ahsoka, Mace and all the others. I failed Cody, dear, diligent Cody whose mind shall no longer be his own; who shall turn to shoot me when three words are pronounced.

I have failed everyone I have known- but I shall not fail the Je’daii.

Perhaps the Force created me as the one cog within the Galaxy doomed to eternal failure, and perhaps in doing so, I have not yet failed the Force- but I shall.

If it means I must stand up to Lord Vader and prevent all the atrocities that are to come, then yes, I shall gladly fail the Force. I shall turn upon it as a disowned son and force its due upon us. If the Jedi are destined to doom, I shall have them change.

If the Vod’e are destined to slavery, I shall liberate them. And if Lord Vader, son of the Force, rises to face me with all the will of the Force behind him- then I shall convince the Force to allow my path a way, a chance- and by defying him, if I must.

If Vader stands in my way, he too shall fall. Such is my oath as a Je’daii. My legacy is now Tython’s legacy, my concerns now of Tython’s future. Such is the oath I swore to the spirits of a Thousand Je’daii Masters, from Iolar the First to Rajivari the Last, with Biel Ductavis and Darth Traya as my witnesses.

And so have I sacrificed in my three years, shortened to six months by time anomalies on Tython, thrown part after part of myself upon the altar of the Force, given and given until I had nothing left so that I could rise to the title of Je’daii Master.

And so I permit myself to feel neither remorse nor satisfaction. I do not question my actions, but take no pleasure from them either. I only do what I must, as one who walks the grey path of shadowy light.

The Je’daii who taught me beyond death as a spectre is Mor tho’yir Iolar the Pathfinder, the ancient Master of the Force who became the first of the Je’daii. It was she who spent her life to grant my ship and the eight others of his kind their will- and it was these Tho Yor, as they are called, that brought the first of the Je’daii to Tython.

Her purpose was to craft a family, an order strong enough to stand against the Rakatan Empire and live, and wise enough to rebuild the shattered galaxy afterwards.

And so, one could say, is my aim as well- only that I face no Empire of savage aliens that wield the Dark Side to create hellish technologies and weapons of destruction, but my fellow humans.

Thus, before this Galactic Empire can come to be, the Galaxy shall see the Je’daii return. To me, this event is only symbolic- for it marks the first time in twenty-five millennia that a Je’daii has revealed their Tythan Might.

With a subtle application of the Force, I very slightly tighten the clasp of Dooku’s cloak around his neck. He has surely felt it, but dedicated to the scheme as he is, he retains the presence of mind to not turn to me. The signal has been given.

His speech grows more impassioned- _“At last we shall end these dogs of the Republic; at last we shall claim what is rightfully ours!”-_ and so seldom does the Count speak in such a manner, that it serves as an excellent secondary signal indeed.

The five others are ready. I can feel the grip of Dooku’s power on the wall that had been structurally compromised yesterday for this very reason.

And so I gently let go on my grasp of the Ebon Crystal, withdrawing my presence from within it.

The weapons of a Je’daii are elegant, and never harm directly- but neither are they docile, for they sting most when used in vengeance. A form of provocation is required, a form of incidence to be redirected, as Master Kreia has taught me.

A Je’daii uses the Force to understand and to command, never alter and make our surroundings bend to our will, as Master Ductavis has taught me.

The destruction of the Separatist Council shall employ a combination of the two doctrines.

I steadily unclasp my hand, feeding the Dark Side into the crystal and drawing the Light to surround me- and this tips the balance.

A veritable crescendo of dark bolts- be they of lightning or something worse- spring from the Ebon Crystal’s veins. Nute Gunray is the first to be destroyed, his body disintegrating utterly. Wat Tambor, as my dear Cody would say, is fried within his suit.

_Focus._

I draw the Force to me, restraining Poggle and Tikkes to their chairs. They cannot be allowed to flee from within the bounds of my shield. The power of the dark side clashes against the Light, the Ebon Crystal pouring all of the dark energy within it, drawn to my Forcer shield as it is.

With my back to the wall, I persevere. If anything, I suppose I am rather sufficiently skilled at suffering punishment and rising from it- and so I do. I have done this a hundred times before, and I do it again.

I heard the blast and the cracks of stone, telling me that Dooku has used his own considerable powers to claw the compromised wall apart and hurl himself through the crack with the Force, along with the five Serennians who left as soon as they recognised the beginning.

When the haze clears and the torment of the lightning ceases, it is to quite the scene- that of the annihilation of all the Separatists loyal to Sidious, save these two.

I have no time for their queries, and with a powerful Force suggestion, I force sleep upon them. They shall be taken to the Tho Yor, and we shall wait.

The Republic shall soon hear of the CIS being in civil war, and they shall send their greatest fleet. There can be no doubt whom the Jedi Order will send- Master Windu, of course, the strongest member aside form Yoda himself, and perhaps the most reliable.

And yet I would not put it past one Sheev Palpatine to arrange for the attachment of Lord Vader onto the mission- and that shall be an aid. The inevitable dissonance between the two comamnders shall grant me a boon.

The strategy is perhaps complex, but effective. Dooku shall take the first fleet and hide among gas-clouds and asteroid fields. We shall offer a paltry resistance in the atmosphere, and shall allow them to take Serenno’s skies- but never to make landfall. The formidable defences should manage that adequately.

They shall the witness the rise of a Tho Yor, as I lead my vessel to break the blockade and pursue in forced points, ensuring a defeat in detail.

When they overwhelm us eventually, they shall be forced to contend with Grievous’ fleet, and the hammer shall strike the anvil.

They stand a chance only if Master Windu and Vader are able, by any miracle, to agree. If so, I shall again do what I must.

They shall face the full strength of a Je’daii Master unleashed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan referring to Anakin as 'Vader' is very, very intentional. 
> 
> Witness as Obi-Wan gradually turns into Lord Kenobi, devastator of the Republic, who'd rather outmanoeuvre every single force-user in the Galaxy than choose to acknowledge that he has feelings and that anything he thinks matters. Anakin, what have you made...
> 
> Where is Cody, damn it? The General needs you!


	6. The Siege of Serenno- I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning- Anakin awaits at the end of the chapter. Please, ah- tolerate him?

**The Siege of Serenno- Part I**

“The first ships are in place, as I have heard. The Republic encroaches on our hyperlanes and creeps around the Sector. Sidious is poised to strike.”

“Hmm.” said the Je’daii Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, setting himself down gently from his floating meditative pose. His grey mantle fluttered awhile, and it was not the first time Dooku had gazed to the four lightsaber hilts clipped to the _obi,_ fastened in the way of ancient custom.

“Perhaps, _Lord Kenobi,_ it should be best for you to abandon your various esoteric mysteries for once and focus on the matter of an imminent Siege.” he said, and the Je’daii raised an eyebrow at the use of the title.

“Do not forget, Count, that it is these very ancient mysteries that divined the Banking Clan’s intervention on Raxus and saved the sector, and that it warned you of the Venators that shall be moved here from Christophsis. How goes Grievous’ siege, if I may ask?”

It had gone well. Of course it would- inelegant and abhorrent though Grievous was, he was Dooku’s student. And no student of his ever failed him and lived on in his service.

“I instructed him to take and reprogram as many droids as possible. The Techno Union shall fall and be subsumed, soon enough. The shipyards on Fondor shall soon enough serve our aims. With their combined might, we shall have strength enough to hold off the Republic for another half-year, at most.”

“Indeed, indeed.” Kenobi said, voice barely a whisper. Dooku snarled.

“Perhaps we could said this predicament far better if you would only care to tell me of your plans afterwards, Lord Kenobi.”

The Je’daii Master gazed at him directly, with Dooku’s cold, black eyes held in his own cerulean pools of wisdom.

“ _Master Kenobi._ Master, not Lord. I have given you leave to use my title to bolster morale as you will, but it shall otherwise imply that I am yet another puppet for you to control, _Count._ And I am in no way under your thumb, for you have yet to earn my loyalty.”

Dooku scoffed haughtily. “A former Jedi such as yourself, and one so exemplary at that- why, I believed you would not be enraged over a matter as trivial as a title.”

“Enraged? No, Count, you misunderstand me. Rage will not aid either of us. It is merely as I tire of being referred to as something I am not.”

Dooku felt the flare of silent, subtle power behind the words. He would have challenged it with a flare of his own, if only he had not seen what Kenobi was capable of.

He was no fool, and loath to admit it as he was, his grandpadawan was _far, far beyond him._

 _But it would not remain so. He_ would _access his knowledge, and he_ would _grow to surpass him, no matter what his age might mean._

If only he could gain Kenobi’s trust in time- but there were more important matters. Matters such as gauging his strength in something that required practicality, not esotery. Duelling, for one.

Perhaps he could trade. A lesson for a lesson.

“Perhaps, then, you would do me the courtesy of informing me of the extent of your plans for this battle alone, before I must depart for my fleet?” he asked. Obi-Wan did not reply, looking pensive.

Dooku abandoned courtesy and gripped him by the scruff of his neck. To his chagrin, the Je’daii Master was as serene as ever, eyeing his hard strength with a cold sort of disinterest.

“Serenno is _my_ homeworld” he said, teeth gnashing, “and if it falls due to an error in simple _communication_ on your part, I shall pursue you to the end of all the Sith hells to ensure you suffer even in death.”

Even now, it seemed that he was not daunted- but the Je’daii eventually withdrew, and released a long sigh.

“There are few arguments I can have against that. What you mistook for meditation was in fact a mulling-over of the plans. I have decided to strategically weaken our flanks, so as to provide an illusion of helplessness.”

And at once, it had been made clear.

“You… you insinuate that we leave them to make landfall? That we allow them to devastate the land of _my_ home?” Dooku nearly shouted in outrage. Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed.

“If we are to discuss this, perhaps we are better served in a place of tranquillity.” he said, and without waiting for an answer, he swept through the door and was off. Paying little heed to his own dignity of comportment, Dooku tore after him.

“You will _listen_ to what I have to say, Kenobi, or rest assured that I shall not give one cho-mar for your fate.” he said, enveloping his throat in his palms as if to choke him. It proved ill-advised, as the Je’daii Master had only to touch them with his hands before Dooku nursed two red welts that came out of nowhere.

“Why, you _insolent…”_ and Kenobi was off, his grandmaster, as ever, doomed to follow.

Obi-Wan led him in the various winding halls and corridors of Castle Serenno, taking a sharp turn by the ruined wing and making for the Count’s balcony. He took the stairs thence and exited to the grounds, with the skies unmarred by any sight of the Republic’s capital ships.

It became apparent that he was leading them to the Tho Yor, which still loomed ominously, floating a considerable distance over the ground with no apparent propulsion.

Arbitrarily, his steps began to rise, until he floated in mid-air, walking on as ever, with Dooku unable to follow. The Count stopped at the moment, wondering at the sheer audacity of his grandpadawan, wondering how becoming a Je’daii had not rid him of his ridiculous dramatics.

“Kenobi, you Kintik Hadzuska Siqsa Ninûshwodzakut!” he cursed silently in Ancient Sith, before calling for a speeder. Obi-Wan was going to be the death of him; of that he was certain.

He looked up to see the Je’daii Master having turned around, still floating like the theatrical clown he now seemed to be, observing him with a bemused smile.

“Such _language,_ my dear Count. I’d advise you to not let fly like that while Lord Traya is listening, for it offends her… ah, delicate sensibilities. Although I must admit, ‘Darkest-shadowy-demonic-knotter-of-entrails’ is quite the impressive construction.”

* * *

“Well?” said Obi-Wan, sweeping his hands in an arcane gesture that shut the cavernous maw that was the entrance to the Tho Yor behind them.

Perhaps were he not faced with the knowledge that Obi-Wan was implying an _evacuation_ of Serenno- grand, beautiful Serenno- he would comment on the history of the dark ship, or of the sheer _power_ he could feel thrumming within its walls.

They were plunged in absolute darkness, with the Je’daii having chosen to summarily forget about lighting. Dooku was growing steadily accustomed to accommodating some of his more infuriating antics, and his sight within the Force was not enough.

“You have the temerity to suggest that we should _leave_ Serenno be, leave _my world, my people_ without their protectors and their hope? If this is a trick, Kenobi…”

“Would it not as well have been conquered had you gone along with Sidious’ scheme? Even if you had not been killed, your people and your planet would have come to a grisly fate.” he said, with a shake of the head.

Dooku seethed, Sith rage boiling off him. Instead of anger, however, his voice carried only ice.

“And so you would treat _my home_ as merely an asset, one world among others, to be left as is strategic, with scorched earth, if possible? If this is a product of your former detachment as a Jedi, then I shall warn you that it is thoroughly ill-advised.”

Obi-Wan turned away, his back to his grandmaster. “It is my duty as a Je’daii Master to see things _precisely as they are.”_

And the proud Count of Serenno could take it no longer.

“How _dare_ you! I should have you flogged in the old way, for this preposterous…”

**_BRAOUM._ **

He noticed the flash of light too late, and felt the pain of electricity in his veins too keenly. An instant later, and he was lying in a heap of limbs on the floor.

“K-Kenobi…” he let out a wounded growl, fighting his own lethargy. He injected his pain into the Force, calling on the Dark Side, rising to his feet again, before the damnable former Jedi said mildly, “You might not want to call on the Dark Side if you don’t wish for that to happen again.”

Still too stunned that Kenobi had assaulted him with a thunderbolt, one too fast, and much too alike to true electricity that it could be called Force lightning, Dooku deferred for the moment. The lightning crackle of his palms ceased as well, as he forced calm upon himself like no other Sith could.

“Lightning? In here? How did you…” he questioned, as Obi-Wan brought him a chair on which he sat, with rather a dubious expression.

“I’m afraid that was not my doing, Count. Indeed, it was not Force lightning at all. I should like to think I am not as abhorrent and disrespectful to the will of the Force to summon true Sith lightning.”

Dooku nodded his head in acknowledgement. For all his nonsense, Kenobi was wise. He himself had never thought of lightning in that manner, as effective a tool as it was- but only that. A _tool._

He never had forgotten Master Yoda’s lesson- that they were tools of the Force, not vice versa. Could it be that there was more wisdom in the then-dismissed lesson than he had assumed?

_Questions, questions._

“Who, then? Another of the long-departed force spirits whom you are bonded to?”

“Oh, they won’t expend such power from where they are. I’m sorry to say it was entirely _your_ doing, Lord Tyranus.”

Dooku pondered awhile.

 _“Tyranus.”_ he said, tasting the name on his tongue.

 _Force,_ Kenobi was right. It was utterly ridiculous, as if from a children’s tale.

“I betrayed Sidious, as you oversaw. I am no longer ‘Tyranus’. You are correct- the name is as puerile and ignoble as your former padawan’s attempts to hide his relationship with Senator Amidala.”

And that moment, he internally savoured how Obi-Wan’s cheeks turned bright pink, with him sputtering a little. A Je’daii’s serenity broken- excellent.

“Well- why- even _you_ know it! Surely, I cannot imagine…”

“If we are to _defeat_ that fool, Kenobi, you shall disclose to me the manner in which we may, beginning with what you just did now.”

“Defeat- Anaki- no, defeat… Defeat _Lord Vader,_ yes.” he said, and Dooku could practically hear him suppressing his own thoughts. For all his newfound mastery and wisdom, Kenobi’s heart was still a fragile thread hanging on the edge of a knife- but perhaps Dooku could instruct him in the art of avoiding betrayal. In compensation, Kenobi would have to instruct him in his… Je’daii secrets.”

“Well, I- what you witnessed just now was an ancient Je’daii art. The air in a Tho Yor is one of balance, and you drew too deeply upon the Dark Side alone. The discharge was the Force’s compensation.”

“And so you drew me here on purpose, so that I may not threaten you in any way while you discuss your outrageous plans to leave Serenno defenceless.” Dooku deduced.

For all the Count’s eerie accuracy, Obi-Wan sighed.

“Just barely off the mark, Count. As always. I need you to ponder my battle plans with a present, rational mind. The Dark Side, I am taught, is not inherently evil- but the methods used to avail of its power are. As such, thoughts of rage, attachment- they may cloud your vision. We are far too desperate to afford that.”

Dooku nodded, assuming a nobleman’s expressionless dignity within an instant. Obi-Wan looked slightly impressed- perhaps even fearful.

“This Je’daii art of enforcing balance- I trust it shall aid us against young Skywalker?” he asked mildly, knowing that talks of his padawan would keep the Je’daii away from his singleminded focus, so that Dooku could dissect his grandpadawan’s proposed game.

Obi-Wan turned around, sighed slightly, and nodded.

“With his emotional imbalance, it might hurt Ana- _Vader,_ yes. I trust it shall be… effective.” he said, and deflated a little. Dooku’s spirit coiled like a viper, ready to strike.

“I assure you, however…” Obi-Wan said again, turning around, “No matter whom they send against us, Serenno shall _not_ be defenceless. I promise to leave it better-protected than it is even now. We leave only because the Republic’s attention will be on us, and this world shall hopefully be spared to muster another force. I accept this engagement only as it is a chance to inflict a devastating loss on the Republic, one that I shall not take lightly.”

Faintly, Dooku felt the fire that kindled in his heart at these words. ‘A manipulation of the Force?’ he wondered. _No, no._ Observing discreetly, he found that the pride, the courage that stoked the flame was all his own.

“Go on.”

“The plan is feasible enough- when they assault Serenno’s atmosphere, the defence we shall offer shall be paltry. It shall hopefully spur them to an increased aggression. By weakening our flanks, we allow them complete control of the hyperlanes- which also means they shall place all their eggs in one basket.”

The brilliance of it was subtle, careful. Dooku noticed it at once, astute as he had always been, and immediately felt thankful to have this formidable Je’daii at his side, whatever he thought of his… _dramatics._

“And you used the ‘civil war’ between my faction and Sidious’ to validate such a change. It would otherwise have seemed obvious as a deception.”

Obi-Wan nodded. Here were two masters at work, unfolding their schemes as heathen gods, standing to bring hope to thousands of lives and sweeping it aside for thousands of others.

“You know how the campaign has gone. We have rather employed reserves, shock fleets and subterfuge to undermine Sidious’ faction, which leaves our flanks and capital ships truly intact. The main fleet shall follow you to the gas clouds around the sector, and the Republic ships should jump beyond them, as they shall think they have the element of Surprise.”

“Ingenious, _grandpadawan._ Though I regret they may make landfall…”

“They shall _not”_ said the Je’daii firmly, and Dooku could not deny that he was _proud_ of him. Qui-Gon had been right to speak highly of his grandpadawan, most certainly.

“They shall not make landfall. Your planetary defences should deal a great blow to them- what they shall consider an ‘acceptable loss’. And then, in the moment of their so-called triumph, they shall witness the rise of a Tho Yor.”

 _‘And it shall be glorious’_ Dooku finished mentally.

“And then, I assume, you will pursue in forced points, for a classic and comprehensive defeat in detail?” he asked, right as Obi-Wan affirmed it.

“Indeed. While my single-pronged pursuit shall be overwhelmed eventually, that is when I shall count on Grievous to make his appearance. Your fleet will then have flanked and dealt with the forces that scattered behind mine.”

“And like a hammer and anvil, we shall bring them to an end. Well done, Grandpadawan. However, I find myself doubtful- what if they expect a forced engagement? The sight of a monolith such as this is surely… unnerving.”

Obi-Wan dismissed it with a flick of the hand. “They shall not know how to combat it. None save Master Yoda should recognise it- and he is occupied elsewhere.”

“That is not what I was asking, Kenobi.” said the Count, expectantly. It was said that only amateurs spoke of strategic manoeuvres on paper; true masters of the art of war considered their foes’ minds. Obi-Wan turned around, giving a wry smile with such sadness enwrapped that it shocked even the former Sith apprentice.

“I can assure you that they shall indeed split up. We have established that Lord Vader will be in charge of one of the fleets; as such, it can only be assumed that the remnant will be under the leadership of Master Windu. There is no one else the Jedi Council or the Order as a whole would trust more with such a matter. And it is a boon, I daresay, that he and Lord Vader cannot stand each other. There will be a great deal of dissonance, mark my words.”

“A fair point.” he allowed, pausing again at the sorrow on his face, despite the grim conviction.

“At your despondence, one would almost wonder if there was something you wished to say about Master Windu…”

“We were friends; nothing more. The past is irrelevant.” said Obi-Wan, all too quickly. Dooku allowed it to pass.

“And furthermore, I shall aid you if only I am allowed to set my own rules of engagement. I shall not attack with lethal force if I can help it, and I will reduce no Venator to a drifting hulk. Too many have suffered from this war- let not the Vod’e be caught as well.”

The Count nearly seethed again, but decided to be magnanimous. Kenobi’s care for these… clones, these… tube-born _experiments_ was truly perplexing, but if he was to win this war, he would need to concede allowances.

“Do what you will, Kenobi, so long as you deliver victory, and so long as you do not attempt to dictate my own terms of engagement.”

He drew a sharp breath at that, gazing at Dooku with such an intensity that Dooku thought his cerulean irises had turned aflame.

“I will _not_ aid a murderer, Count. Your droids were designed only to kill, as were they- show them some mercy, then, for they are capable of appreciating it. Too many lives have been lost already.”

_That self-aggrandising… how dare he!_

He was fully prepared to admonish the ridiculous man for thinking of soldiers born to serve Palpatine and only Palpatine, but Dooku sensed opportunity.

“I have given myself wholeheartedly to this war, and shall do what is necessary to win it. Do not try to hamper my resolve, Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan looked as if he would argue, and quite viciously. Gone was his Je’daii detachment, abandoned was his serenity- and Dooku realised, then and there, that what separated The Je’daii First Master from _Obi-Wan_ was his love for his men, and all such growing things.

“If you… if you take at least 75 percent of assumed casualties as prisoners of war, I- I am prepared to teach you one of the foremost among Je’daii arts.” he said, softly. Pleadingly.

“Truly?” asked Dooku, feigning a sort of disinterest himself. He did not allow his eyes to light in the way they should have.

“Yes. Even- even though you are not ready. The Vod’e _must_ be spared their fate.” he said, and looked at him with that same grim conviction again.

“And what is this so-called ‘Je’daii art’ that shall convince me to risk _everything?”_ he asked mildly, at which Obi-Wan’s harsh breaths grew.

Dooku waited until he calmed himself, only smiling bemusedly as the Je’daii _glared_ at him.

And then, finally, he thrust out his palm, using the Force to unclip three of his four lightsabers from his belt. They shot out and ignited, and all was suddenly a crescendo of light.

The Count of Serenno watched in undisguised fascination as a red blade, a purple blade and a yellow blade rose to crown Obi-Wan Kenobi, a triumvirate of death-bringers arrayed behind him as he raised his hand to the air.

He beckoned forward, and all blades shot away, twirling, cutting and thrusting at mid-air, a storm of death incarnate, impossible to defend against, impossible to defeat.

 _“This.”_ said Master Kenobi, and Darth Traya watched in approval.

* * *

_“Knight Skywalker.”_ said the holo, calm tones disguising distaste.

“Master Windu.” said Anakin, on the bridge of the _Resolute._

 _“I take it you have received news of the attack on Serenno?”_ he asked, knowing the answer.

“I was personally assigned to the mission by Chancellor Palpatine, Master.” he said, hiding his true response of ‘ _yes, Palpatine told me, unlike you council-arses. He’s a true friend. He gives me the recognition I deserve.’_

“ _Well, then, as the Chancellor clearly has such faith in your skill, I trust he has told you what to do. We attack at 04:00 CT, and on no accounts will you attempt to coordinate a pre-emptive jump. It could be a trap.”_

“Yes, Master.” he said outwardly.

The transmission ended, and Anakin stalked out of the hall.

For what was not the first time, he noticed Rex’s absence- a presence he had come to miss nearly as much as Ahsoka.

 _‘All because of my Master.’_ he recalled, and bared his teeth.

It was _Obi-Wan_ who had made Ahsoka go away- it was _Obi-Wan_ who hadn’t done enough, who had sided with _them._

Chancellor Palpatine had said as much, and Cahncellor iPalpatine never lied to him, unlike _some_ others.

And it was _Obi-Wan’s_ departure which had sent Rex away, as his captain was found many times watching Commander Cody’s back. He felt for the 212th commander, he truly did- if only Obi-Wan hadn’t been so _weak._

So _weak_ and _irresolute._

How _dare_ he leave Anakin and _Anakin’s_ family after so much? How _dare_ he lose his resolve, at this time of all times? Anakin chuckled bitterly; for all that his former master must have thought him a disappointment, it was truly _Obi-Wan_ who had proven disappointing.

“Can’t even stay on to the end of the war like a man- but then again, he’s not a man. He’s a Jedi.” he muttered to himself in resentment.

Or at least- _was_ a Jedi.

He’d had this coming- that he knew. After so much time, his long-thought wise, invincible master had shown his true colours as one _who did not care._

After Anakin had given him his _rightful_ comeuppance, he had left- he _dared_ to have left- all because of his arrogance and his hypocrisy. Typical. He should have listened to Chancellor Palpatine long ago. He always thought Palpatine was too kind to Obi-Wan, too respectful to voice his _true_ feelings, but even a kind, grandfatherly old man such as him could see through Obi-Wan’s lies!

No, he corrected himself. He saw through the _Jedi’s_ lies as a whole.

Ah, well, at least he had Padmé.

Twenty-three though he was, he could not wait to have children. Then he’d love them, cherish them, be a _father_ to them as Obi-Wan had never had been able to for him. He’d leave the Jedi Order eventually, and they wouldn’t have to hide their marriage anymore- it would be bliss!

Maybe he’d even go to visit Obi-Wan where he was living as a hermit on his drab homeworld of Stewjon, and magnanimously forgive him for his mistakes, as kind as he was. And then he’d show him how happy they were, how well they were doing, and make him wish he could ever be that happy.

Chancellor Palpatine had assured him that he had a great destiny- something about ‘Victory breaking his chains’ and ‘The force shall free me’. Perhaps he’d free all the slaves in the Galaxy, and help everyone like the stupid Jedi never could.

At any rate, the Chancellor had said that he would be around to help him in whatever way- even employ him in an unofficial capacity and take care of his expenses.

The old man really was too kind- he was everything Obi-Wan should have been, to be fair. He’d truly be a marvellous Jedi- or something even better, perhaps. Anakin’s heart went out to him.

The poor Chancellor looked increasingly slack-faced and red-eyed these days. He wasn’t sleeping well, overworking himself to death as he surely was with the prospect of an imminent victory.

Anakin hadn’t entirely been sure what the matter about the Separatist Civil War was, but it had seemed to cause Palpatine a great amount of stress. There was surely a great amount of paperwork or whatever- Anakin couldn’t find it in himself to ask.

Now that he reflected, he really had imposed too much on his old friend- but there was no one who could assuage his doubts and fears like Palpatine, not after Obi-Wan left, and Anakin didn’t want to worry Padmé.

It was the oddest thing, as if the throbbing that began on the other end of his training bond after Obi-Wan broke it just- went away, while he spent time with Palpatine. He felt especially comforted by the Chancellor’s presence, oblivious though the old man surely was- why, it was as if Palpatine himself now occupied the other end of the training bond- kind, caring Palpatine instead of cold, distant Obi-Wan.

Anakin sighed. Wouldn’t that be wonderful, if only it were true?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Er, is it, ah, too much of an ask to implore anyone to try not to be _too_ mean to Anakin? He... he gets better, I promise... 
> 
> Such a pity, that there is such a wealth of Mando'a in stories and yet nobody shows any love to Ancient Sith. Fantatsic language. Especially to Curse with. 
> 
> Obi-Wan and Dooku seem to have brought an unforeseen amount of stress to Sheev. Anakin is so kind to worry about him... right? RIGHT?


	7. The Siege of Serenno- II

**The Siege of Serenno- Part II**

**Operation New Hope**

03:30, Coruscant Time. The hour had nearly arrived.

This would be either Mace’s finest hour, or his last. The great Siege of Serenno. The decisive end to the Clone Wars.

With the notable exceptions of Yoda and Plo Koon, nearly all the greatest Jedi Masters had been called in with their fleets to the offensive. Himself, Kit Fisto, Ki-Adi-Mundi, Saesee Tiin, Stass Allie, Quinlan Vos- and, to his imperceptible growl, _Anakin Skywalker._

The Jedi Order’s most famed Knight though he was, and among the most successful, Mace would have rather preferred if General Skywalker and the 501st were to sit this one out. Preferably on some low-risk mission to guard their increasingly irritating Chancellor, of whom Anakin seemed to be particularly fond for no good reason.

“I promise you, Chancellor, that I will bring Count Dooku to justice myself! _”_ he had promised to many a flash of a holocam. It was a promise of the ilk that a Jedi never made and never should make, but it had been done, with the Chancellor immediately expressing his full faith in Skywalker’s ability to see it done.

To Master Windu, it heralded only suspicion. He had heard of Skywalker’s ‘rivalry’ with the Count, if it could be called that, and wondered at how… _odd…_ it all was. For the Separatist Head of State to risk his person so openly at Skywalker’s blade, and so flippantly at that…

Besides, it went against all presumptions Mace had himself made of Jedi Master Dooku. Perhaps turning to the vile Sith had changed such a matter, but he had always possessed a certain- dignified nobility, so to speak. Perhaps it arose from arrogance, a flaw present even within the Jedi Master that had once been, but Dooku would never engage in something so puerile, as he would say, as a sustained rivalry.

If anything, it seemed as if fate- or perhaps someone hidden- had arranged for them to confront each other as much as possible. Mace couldn’t imagine for what reason. Skywalker had not won once, not yet- but he came close to doing so every time, if Obi-Wan ( _dear Obi-Wan, how he was missed)_ was to be believed.

He was growing closer to the Count’s martial skill; that Mace knew- perhaps he had surpassed it already. There could not be long left before he grew to become the best of them, surpassing even Yoda, and Mace was fully prepared to accept this fact, even welcoming it.

What disconcerted him was how Skywalker’s rise among the ranks of the Jedi seemed _engineered,_ and by a third party- and he knew who. It was the Chancellor.

He wished to scowl in frustration, because if it were solely the Chancellor that he had to blame, it would make not an iota of sense. How, then, could he explain Anakin and Dooku being pit against each other? How could he explain the typically keenly intelligent Dooku to put himself repeatedly in harm’s way against Skywalker, when he had not succeeded in killing him so far?

What was worse was the fact that Skywalker was a convergence of Shatterpoints, and only standing in his sustained presence was enough for Mace to be plagued with a headache. He had, as a result, affected a certain irascibility with the Knight- _blast it,_ he could consider the matter of apologies after this damned war had come to a close.

If only _Obi-Wan_ were here… Obi-Wan would know what to do.

Whether he liked it or not, Mace decided, Obi-Wan would certainly get a visit from him after this damned business was at an end, no matter how proficiently he tried to hide himself.

“You holding up alright there, General?” asked Commander Fox, who had been brought in from the Coruscant Guard to assist his 187th Legion.

He sighed. Every one of the Vod’e was too sharp for his own good. Though he masked it well, it would no doubt be apparent if he was brooding.

“Yes, I’m quite alright, Fox. If you’ll forgive me, the Siege of Serenno- well, it is naturally a lot to think about.”

Fox nodded, and Mace released a sigh of relief imperceptibly. He was both heartened and saddened by the fact that he wasn’t so hell-bent on getting the truth out of him as his dear Ponds had been.

“It’s because Dooku was once a Jedi, wasn’t he?”

Mace made a show of pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sometimes I do wonder if you see too much for your own well-being- you and all your brothers.”

Fox gave a short bark of laughter, and Mace was tempted to laugh along with him. He knew better.

“Would you like to go over the plan once again, General?” he asked, always the one for planning and logistics. Mace nodded.

“Can’t hurt. We jump beyond the gas clouds to eliminate navigational interference, and take care of the Serennian defence fleet. Their flanks are weakened, or so the Chancellor’s curiously reliable intelligence sources tell us, so they shouldn’t be able to protect their Hyperlanes. Skywalker does what he does best, clearing a path for us, and then we jump via the main Hyperlane to make landfall.”

Fox nodded along. “Seems like we have a sound element of surprise. The Seppies should be overwhelmed by General Skywalker’s… ahem, tactics, and the surface should soon be ours, formidable as the defences are. No ground assault system can hold off a solid sixteen Venators, twenty-eight _Victory_ cruisers and 566 CR-90 Corvettes!”

“Quite, Fox, quite.” Mace found himself saying, before an odd thought came over him.

On his Venator-Class Star Destroyer, the _Redoubtable,_ there were five Jedi, including himself, and four legions. Himself and Depa for the 187th, Aayla Secura with the 327th (seeing just _what_ she’d been doing with Commander Bly the previous day while they thought he didn’t know convinced him that they’d protect each other particularly well), Master Luminara with the 144th and a fifth Jedi, the young but many-a-times battle-tested Master A’Sharad Hett, with his 98th.

This was a specific plan, to concentrate a large number of Jedi and troops to make landfall in one Venator. They would come by late, when the land defences had been battered, and take the surface quickly with five powerful Jedi concentrated in one spot.

As a result, the _Redoubtable_ carried little to no fighter support, relying instead on Master Mundi’s fleet, and whatever destruction Skywalker would wreak from the _Resolute._

Mace sighed. _Skywalker, always Skywalker._ He did not know or want to know what strings Chancellor Palpatine had pulled to assign him to this mission arbitrarily, and in the most important role of all.

There was only one choice, and that was to trust him. After Obi-Wan’s departure, Mace had been particularly disinclined to trust anybody, particularly _him._

Except Commander Cody. Mace knew he could trust Cody, because in Cody, he recognised a mirror.

Captain Rex, Skywalker’s lieutenant, had seen fit to come to him one day, despite all the nonsense Skywalker had likely told his whole legion about Mace’s character. He’d asked, in very formal tones, for Cody to be granted leave.

He’d been surprised to see Cody himself in reluctant agreement, only to find that his leave would be to one planet in particular. _Stewjon._

He’d gone, then, the 212th taken care of by Boil, only to return dejected.

There was no doubt whom Cody had searched for, and whom he had returned without. He had seen him once, in Obi-Wan’s old room, which had not been reassigned, as there were far too few Jedi in the Temple these days.

A tear or two, pearlescent and gentle, had made their way from his eyes, but he had not cried in earnest, not knowing how. He had never been allowed that luxury, for fear of decommissioning. Clone as he was- Mace had not suspected he would be so deeply affected by his General’s departure.

He had left, then, allowing Cody to sneak out by whatever way he’d come in. It seemed too tender a moment to interrupt.

“General Windu! General Skywalker has cleared a path!” shouted the 187th’s lieutenant- ‘Starch’, he was called, owing to his paratrooper armour and indeed very thoroughly-washed cloak.

“Put him through.” Fox said for him, and Mace gave him a grateful half-smile before heading to the comm unit.

“ _Master Windu.”_ said Skywwalker, as soon as he was displayed. _“The Chancellor’s intelligence was correct. The Seps’ fleet’s in tatters- I have seen to it. Perhaps it is time we make landfall, now that I’ve scattered them?"_ he said, voice dripping with a daring sort of calm.

It was spoken nearly as an insult- _‘I did all the work and you get to pick up the pieces’-_ but _was_ it? What had he meant, ‘The Seps’ fleet’s in tatters?’ Were they previously in tatters before he arrived, or was it his doing?

Skywalker shut the transmission, and Mace restrained himself from the audible shout _‘stupid boy!’_

This- this was too little. Too vague- and yet Skywalker would not respond to their attempts to re-establish a transmission. Too caught up in his offense, most likely. It was obvious they had the advantage, but to what degree?

“Sir?” asked a concerned Starch. “Shall I give the order to exit jump?”

Though nothing could be seen through the maddening white outlines of hyperspace, they knew for a fact that they neared Serenno. Any moment now, they would bypass the gas clouds at the edge of the system.

“Sir?!” he asked again, and Mace was brought out of his musings. For all their advantages, they had… _far too little,_ where it mattered. They knew _nothing-_ Skywalker’s ruthless, if efficient, aggression had sene to that. And yet it was now or never.

“If they were to end this damned war, then so be it.

 _“Exit Jump, and man all battlestations!”_ Mace thundered, and the 187th rushed to obey.

“Aye aye, Sir!” echoed Fox, and the Siege had commenced.

* * *

“This is C.S.S. _Ambitious,_ Naval Group Ashla. Requesting direct line to President Dooku and Naval Group Bogan _.”_

“C.S.S. _Avenger_ to Naval Group Ashla. Sector breached. We are poised to strike. Awaiting the Lord Protector’s word to commence.”

“We hear you, _Avenger._ Lord Protector aboard ‘Tho Yor’, code _C.S.S._ _Darasuum Kote._ Requesting direct transmission to Head of State Dooku on _Isengard.”_

“This is Count Dooku, C.S.S. _Isengard,_ to Naval group Ashla. Skywalker has struck away our defences, as predicted. We forecast that he shall pursue group Ashla while Master Windu, most likely, is en route for landfall. Put me through to Naval Group Bendu and Lord Kenobi.”

“Roger Roger, Count. This is Lord Protector Obi-Wan Kenobi, _C.S.S. Darasuum Kote._ Forecast Correct. Master Windu and twelve Venators inbound. You have my word to commence Operation New Hope.”

* * *

There could only be one way to describe the invasion. It was an absolute _disaster._

There were no _Lucrehulk_ droid control ships in sight, and so they had thought it feasible to attempt entry through Serenno’s atmosphere.

And that was when it rained fire and death. Serenno’s defences were formidable in that most were terrestrial; long-range proton cannons shot their projectiles with deadly accuracy. It was as if the Separatists were intimately familiar with all the intricacies of design in the latest Venator.

Their radiation counters warned them of an unusual amount of electromagnetic decay for which they could find no source. Two Venators suddenly lost systems inputs and began to plummet to the oceans, and Mace noticed how strategically they had been aimed at so that they would not strike land.

Unable to find an external source, as Serenno’s atmosphere had clearly been ionised, Mace snak into the Force out of desperation. And within its enveloping currents, he could sense tendrils of power lashing out from an unknown object.

An unknown, ancient object that resonated with such _old,_ such _ancient_ echoes of the Force that Master Mace Windu, the utterly fearless, was struck with dread on probing the sanctity of such power.

It became apparent immediately.

“Attention all vessels, the Black Pyramid at 21’45, 82’30 is suspect! Avoid until further orders!” he thundered into his comm, only to see that the area with the - _superweapon? -_ was the only one not ringed with innumerable cannons.

“General Skywalker reports success on clearing the planetary defence fleet, General!”

“Tell him to abandon pursuit!” Mace shouted at once. He needed Skywalker’s support _now,_ damn it all, to draw their fire and remove the land defences, not the boy’s glory-hogging kill-seeking pursuits!

“But sir, he’s the most successful of all our Generals in this battl-“

“Tell him now!” Mace said over whoever it was, struggling to maintain his Jedi Serenity.

The Separatists were flanking now, coming out of asteroid fields and from the sides of the Hyperlane, keeping all but Skywalker’s fleet occupied.

They were making no progress. They had to make landfall.

“Captain, perform a guided pitch! We need to make landfall near the black pyramid!” said Mace, receiving a surprised- “General? Wasn’t that Suspect?”

“Trust me.” he said with conviction, and they began their dive.

He poured all of his Jedi training, all of his self-mastery into his resolve. They could not fail now. Tjhey had come too far.

“General Windu… I think you need to see this.” said Commander Fox, in the gravest of tones, breaking through his mental battle.

“What is it, Commander?”

“The C.S,S. _Isengard_ has been sighted- and behind our fleet.”

 _Isengard._ Dooku’s flagship. It very seldom came into battle- and it was entirely behind them, firing upon their unprotected rear.

“We’ve lost seventeen Victory-Class Cruisers and three more Venators, sir.”

_What?_

Such- such casualties were never before heard of! They were- they were _dropping like flies!_

Mace summoned the greatest reserves of his strength in the Force.

_There is no emotion; there is peace._

_There is no ignorance; there is knowledge._

_There is no chaos; there is harmony._

_There is no death; there is the Force._

“A proton cannon barrage, I assume?” he said, knowing the power of the cannons on the Separatist Providence-Class Battlecruisers. They could not be turned or swivelled by anything but a flat angle, but when fired, the damage was far more devastating than a Venator’s turbolaser.

It meant, then, that they had entered with cannons armed at just the correct angle when their backs were presented.

“Yes, Sir. General Skywalker is turning around. He’s declared his intent for the _Resolute_ to directly engage the _Isengard._ Should we belay?” asked Starch.

“No.” said Mace, knowing that it was about the first idea of Skywalker’s that he approved of, even though it came from his personal rivalry with the Count. “Tell him to take support. Twelve Victory- Class Cruisers should be enough.”

“No, sir, he… the General’s aboard his ETA Starfighter. He’s taking the fight to them. They’ve engaged several fleets of vulture droids already.

_Force Damn you, Skywalker, you stupid, brilliant boy._

“He may be our rear’s only hope.” said Master Windu truthfully. “We make landfall fast before Dooku’s fleet surrounds us. Make for the unidentified object, and divert all power to engines!” he gave the order, before a cough drew him away.

He turned around to identify A’Sharad Hett- a Jedi Master already, and yet so young.

Reckless, powerful, brilliant- he was so much like Skywalker that Mace was nearly pained. Hells, he was even _Tatooine-born!_

“Yes, Master Hett?” he asked, every bit the stern Master of the Order.

“I do not mean to distract you, Master Windu, but, ah- this may be a trap. We saw how they had weakened their resistance along the planet so that a fleet hidden in the gas-clouds behind the system could surround us entirely- what if this is the same? What if this spot, where defences are light- what if they corralled us here?”

_Stupid Tatooine-born Knights, too brilliant for their own good._

“I have been aware of that, Master Hett, but we have no course of action left to us. We committed fully before we knew of Dooku’s fleet.” he said firmly, and nearly turned away when Master Hett accosted him with a pleading look.

“Is this- unidentified object- not too tempting a target? If it is truly destroying our fleet’s systems with a form of radiation- if it has been responsible for ionising the atmosphere- do you not think the best defences would be concentrated around this segment of the atmosphere to protect it?”

“As I said, Master Hett-“

And then he saw it.

The Object was... rising.

Dark and terrible, it rotated as it rose, a titanic behemoth that clouded and darkened the skies. It was at least the size of twenty _Lucrehulks,_ he realised distantly.

Mace swallowed his words, and looked at his young companion, whose calculating expression ahd turned into a horrified contortion.

“Well, Knight Hett. You were right. It was a trap- just not in the context you expected.”

A’Sharad cursed in Huttese.

Master Windu, having no such luxuries, had flown to the Captain and the Piloting officers among the Vod’e.

“Activate tractor beam off-centre to the object - divert power to the engines – take evasive action – _now_ , Vod’e!” he shouted frantically, as no Jedi Master should, in the face of this unknown terror.

It was a trap. This entire Siege had been a trap.

His fears proved entirely well-founded as he watched Master Mundi and Captain Tarkin’s Star Destroyer lumber on without any hope for purchase against the ancient Construct. No weapon of theirs struck any dent on its sides of obsidian.

Aayla was out on the Bridge, now, a concerned Bly trailing after her. He could sense Master Luminara having made her way to one of the _Redoubtable’s_ side-ports, while Depa had paused on her way to her former Master’s side to bear witness to the spectacle.

They all watched with the same ilk of enthralled horror as the Dark Ship momentarily ceased its rotation and threw its walls wide open, and like a black, hungry maw of some eldritch leviathan, it _swallowed_ Master Mundi and his ship within its engulfing darkness before there was any chance of escape.

* * *

“A transmission, please, Kalani.” Dooku ordered his favourite tactical droid, receiving a supplication and an immediate adherence to his words.

The proton cannons aboard the _Isengard_ and the other Providence-class cruisers of Naval Group Bogan, which he led, fired yet another barrage at the Republic Star Destroyers and cruisers.

Six hits, four Victory-class Cruisers disabled. Good enough.

They had not nearly enough Vulture droids and Hyena Bombers to delay the swarm of Jedi and Clone starfighters ahead of them, and Dooku was entirely sure Skywalker was at the head.

Everything had been going according to plan.

His old friend, Master Windu, had been caught in their trap.

“This is Count Dooku, C.S.S. _Isengard,_ to naval group Bogan. Central Vessels are to cut power immediately, and flanking vessels are to divert all power to engines. We shall assault them in Starhawk Formation.”

“Roger, Roger, Count.”

The various Tactical Droids at the head of each ship responded with startling, unquestionable efficiency. A brilliant tactical commander’s creativity combined with a machine’s calculation- it was the best combination. And Kenobi was truly a brilliant strategist.

He reached within the Force, casting his dark senses into the storm of fighters- and there he saw it. _Skywalker._

Coming straight for him, was he? Well.

“All starships, converge on the starfighters and contain the swarm. Let them board, if it comes to it.”

A questioning murmur arose among the officers.

“It’s not my place, Count…” ventured Kalani, “but such a manoeuvre is strategically unsound. It leaves all ships but the _Isengard_ open for attack.”

Dooku smiled. “And this is where the intuition of a droid fails, for now _we_ attack. We shall lead Skywalker around in circles. The _Isengard_ shall move to attack Skywalker’s _Resolute,_ forcing him to dock in with his starfighter, leaving his squadron uncoordinated.”

“But my lord Count, what if Skywalker does not take the bait? What if he ignores pursuit of the _Isengard_ in favour of boarding our other vessels?”

Dooku laughed, cold and clear.

“It is a known fact that Skywalker cares overmuch for his legion- and even if he does not return out of a desire to protect his troops, he shall fall for it nonetheless. He shall take the bait, for _I_ am the bait, Kalani. We shall not fire on the _Resolute_ , no- we board it. And I shall personally lead the attack that shall send his cursed hulk to hell.”

“Yes, my Lord Count.” said Kalani, and relayed the orders to his tactical droids.

Dooku himself drew his silver-hilted lightsaber from his belt. It was a beautiful thing, truly.

Obi-Wan had told him what he would need to do. It was possible and entirely likely that the boy had received a boost of Dark Side power from Sidious while he did not know it for the purpose of this battle- and though he would not like to admit it, he was already his equal whether or not he had Sidious’ aid.

Dooku would need to fight at his full strength from the very beginning, and would strike with lethal Force whenever necessary. And yet it was not difficult to lie when he assured the strangely still-attached Je’daii Master that he would not kill Skywalker- for it was not truly a lie.

Skywalker’s death would be a waste. For now, Dooku had… _other…_ uses for him. He chuckled very slightly, refraining from Sidious’ diabolical cackle. He had never expected to find the holocron of the Sith Lord Darth Malak while he covertly searched Obi-Wan’s collection, after all. _Force Drain,_ the technique was called. Elegant, powerful, and so utterly perfect for usage on the so-called Chosen One.

For now, he contented himself with observing Lord Kenobi’s progress, subtly flicking a switch that would transfer the footage of the battle below, as his grandpadawan had not objected when Dooku sent a cam droid along with him, under the pretence of observing the response of the poor Jedi that fell into his trap, and how best they might be reconciled. He had always been an excellent liar, had he not? Yoda had said as much, certainly.

Ah, he had already ensnared Master Mundi and Captain Tarkin, it seemed. There was no hope for them, now that they had been swallowed and boarded. Dooku entered a command into his holopad, one that would focus the droid’s attention on the Je’daii Master himself.

A storm of red, purple and yellow greeted his eyes. A tempest of sabers, twisting with tornadic haste and fury, deflecting bolts left and right into the ground. The Clones fired desperately at the Je’daii Master, but none of the shots was rebounded to them.

B1s and B2s shot only rounds that stunned, and did not kill. The Master himself would intermiitently raise his hands, and Snipers stationed on perches would simply _drop,_ lulled to sleep.

Poor Master Mundi fell next, leaping from what he must have thought was an ambush, before being struck down by bolts of powerful lightning that were discharged by his own act of aggression. Obi-Wan, himself having not moved a finger, waved a hand and sent the Cerean skidding across the floor, into an awaiting gurney laid there by a medical droid.

For all his infinite compassion, Dooku reckoned, Kenobi was truly _glorious_ in battle. A force of nature, and one he was glad to have on his side.

Moments later, his doubts were felled as well.

When Obi-Wan and his squad infiltrated the bridge and took one look at Captain Wilhuff Tarkin, making his last stand, the Je’daii Master’s face snarled in a rictus of hatred.

_Captain Wilhuff Tarkin, who had done the impossible. He had drawn darkness from the Je'daii Master._

He had inspired hatred in Kenobi, and such hatred that Dooku could still feel while such a distance away. He drank it in like a fine wine, as Kenobi’s lips parted to mouth words that the droid’s audio receptors could not quite catch.

_“You… royed… Al..raan.”_

The three lightsabers shot out, an unstoppable whirlwind, making straight for Captain Tarkin, whose cold eyes finally showed a hint of fear. Fear of the killing fire that brought him to death and scythed him apart.

He was the only foe Obi-Wan had himself killed- and nothing was left of him but the semblance of what could have once been a corpse.

So gladdened was Dooku by this show of darkness that he decided there was no need to ask why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Context: This is the Battle of Austerlitz but in spess, with our favourite self-sacrificing dolt as Napoleon. The participating ships and fleets are: 
> 
> The _Resolute_ \- Anakin's flagship. He's on it with the 501st and the 212th. 
> 
> The _Redoubtable_ \- Mace's Venator. He's accompanied by the 187th Legion as well as Depa Billaba, Luminara Unduli, Aayla Secura and A'Sharad Hett, along with their legions. The name is a stupid historical reference to the ship that shot the round which killed Lord Nelson. 
> 
> The _Isengard_ \- Dooku's Providence-Class Battleship and his personal flagship. A stupid LOTR reference. 
> 
> The _Darasuum Kote_ \- The Codename for Obi-Wan's Tho Yor. Mando'a for 'Eternal Glory'. A stupid Vode An reference. 
> 
> Ashla, Bogan and Bendu are the light side, the dark side, and the balanced Force. Obi-Wan thinks they make good names for his battlegroups. Operation 'New Hope' is also a stupid and stupidly obvious reference. 
> 
> Oh, and Obi-Wan arbitrarily killed Tarkin because he has force visions.


	8. The Siege of Serenno- III

**The Siege of Serenno Part- III**

**Return of the Je’daii**

_Nothing._

That was all they saw of Master Mundi and his fleet- _nothing._

It was as if the jaws of the void had opened, the wondrous and horrific craft of a dark god having come to annihilate them for they were found wanting- and there was only one thought.

“It’s coming for us next!” bellowed Mace, giving voice to their thoughts.

Within the _Redoubtable,_ all was a blur of motion and chaos; without was the silent calm of space, and the steady approach of the Dark Ship.

“Where is Skywalker?” Mace asked, to a reply of “He’s engaged a fleet of Vulture droids, General! Their signal jammers prevent us from getting a transmission!”

Brilliant, foolish Skywalker, engaged in some hero’s battle far away, no doubt- while they were doomed to be sacrifices; victims.

With a grunt, Mace threw himself into the Force, parting its clouded depths with his masterful precision.

“Evasive manoeuvre: port, at least thirty degrees!” he shouted, without warning, but as only Clones can, it was obeyed at lightning speed. The shot that would have struck the _Redoubtable_ only glanced off its shield, its culprit slowly being revealed to sight by the Dark Ship’s rotation.

_Ah._

Whoever flew the behemoth vessel was clearly an ingenious commander; thirty-two _Munificent_ class attack cruisers and four Providence-Class Battleships served as a convoy to the bipyramidal relic; the major part of them hidden away from fire by its invulnerable obsidian sides. They accelerated and decelerated with a precision that spoke of droid operators, those that had already suffered damage cloaked by the Ship’s sides to let the fresh ones come to the forefront and fire.

“Manoeuvre starboard at fifty seven!” Mace shouted, his Force-assisted calculations having been correct. The turn radius was tight but they managed with their thrusters, avoiding yet another bolt—and that was when he realised his enemies had expected an evasion. They had, in fact, _counted_ on an evasion. The manoeuvre drove them straight into the path of the Dark Ship.

“Force save us all.”

There was no room to avoid the ship on their trajectory, if that heathen relic had tractor beams. He resigned himself to his fate.

And then a hand clasped his, a firm, hardened scowl meeting his eyes.

“Master.” said Depa, a Vaapad Master and Councillor in her own right- “I may have an idea- but it is the stuff of history books, attempted last during the wars against the Sith Empire. I shall need Master Hett’s aid. We may have a way to avoid that tractor beam.

He really did not deserve Depa, he thought, especially in times like these. Nobody did.

“A’Sharad! We may yet get out of this. Place yourself at Master Billaba’s side immediately.”

* * *

“General? General Skywalker!” Rex bellowed into his personal comm, the one he knew Anakin kept on his person at all times.

There was a slim hope that it would connect, given the Vulture droids’ jammers, but he chose to stoke it, for it was all he had. After all, General Skywalker could do… _things…_ with the Force, miracles only he could accomplish.

“Wha…now…Re..x…” came the static-filled response. He breathed a sigh of relief; nobody knew how Sywalker tinkered with his technology, but at least it worked, to some degree.

“Listen, General, you have to retreat! They’re changing formation, encircling you within. Soon you will be surrounded on all sides…”

“…you…honestly…-ing to say that… can’t handle…self?” came the rather angry retort. Rex flinched.

“No, General. Your skills are not in doubt. I have full faith that you’ll find a way out- but that is their plan. Look, sir- my brothers and I hate this war, even though we were born only to fight in it- but it has taught us a few things, such as how to look between traps. And this, General, is a _karking_ trap!” he yelled.

“What…you say…that?” said the General, clearly in some ire. He was likely concentrating on how to avoid being swarmed by vulture droids- but could he not just pull out of there and _listen?”_

“I’m _saying,_ General, that the _C.S.S. Isengard_ has been bearing down on the _Resolute,_ out of formation and the rest of the Seps’ fleet. That’s Dooku’s ship, which means he plans to get at us directly!”

The static froze for a while, before a holo came in. It was Anakin himself, looking incredibly cross. He had flown away from the Vulture droids and their signal jammers.

“This is no time to be foolish, Rex!” he said in harsh chastisement. Rex’s discipline kept him from shouting back.

“Sir.” was all he said.

“I know Dooku; I’ve fought him directly, and he’s too much of a coward to actually attempt _boarding_ the _Resolute-_ and as for whatever droids that will board, if they do plan to, I thought my men are better than to fail at the simple task of eliminating them! Really, Rex, haven’t I taught you all better…”

 _“Vod!”_ came a sharp voice, and Rex swivelled around.

“Cody. Is it a matter of particular _karking_ urgency, or…” he said with all the calm of a seasoned veteran. He’d dealt with banthakark before, but seeing Cody’s grave expression made him fight for his serenity.

The holo stilled awhile, with Anakin straightening.

“Marshal Commander.” he greeted, surprisingly coldly. Rex hadn’t been entirely sure what had gone on between the two of them after… after Kenobi’s departure, but it seemed that the two of them could not now withstand the sight of each other.

And yet, to him, Cody and Skywalker were both _vod’e,_ no matter how uptight the former and standoffish the latter may be. He would not intrude or attempt to find out, and trusted each of them to come to him in their own time.

And then a stray thought hit him- _wasn’t that exactly what Kenobi would do?_

Was he himself doomed to leave the GAR? No, no, he was _vod._ He could not do that. Good soldiers follow orders- but what if Cody and the others did?

What if his Vod’e- Cody foremost- what if they left? Commander Tano left before Kenobi, and Rex wasn’t so shortsighted that he’d missed Cody- what was the word- _pining_ after his lost General in the vaguest, most subtle ways.

Non-Jedi as he was, his _vod_ marched to the centre of the room without a word, ignoring them both and not offering greeting. He only set the comm he had carried on a transponder’s table, punching the button with rather more force than necessary.

A politely unruffled Darth Tyranus stared at all three.

“Ah, Young Skywalker. I take it your officers have accepted my offer of surrender? Most _rational_ of them, if I do say so myself.”

It was a taunt, clearly a taunt. General Skywalker didn’t need to say as much; even Rex knew the Separatist leader well enough by proxy to know that it was attempted to rile.

The General said nothing, which was a blessing, but fumed silently. It was odd, in a way- and foreboding.

No, scratch that, _terrifying._ This was a man on a mission. A man out to kill.

The Count purposely paid no attention to Skywalker’s holo and turned to Rex himself.

“Of course, now that I have Commander Cody’s word, I shall convey myself shortly to the _Resolute._ Pray order your peers to stand down as I shall not condescend to anything _uncivilised._ A pity though it is, I fear it is best that General Skywalker be kept adrift in space.”

And with that, the transmission ended.

The General _exploded._

“You would betray the Republic, _Commander?_ You would parlay with _him?!_ I know we’re not on the best terms, given how pointedly you’ve spoken of my old master to me and wheedled at my mind, but you and the 212th would _stoop to such depths_ to deny _me_ this victory that the 501st has for so very long deserved?”

Cody bore it all silently, not even glancing away. Rex felt torn between the two, his _vod_ and his other _vod-_ and helpless to do anything. And even now, he felt he could understand his general.

Master Kenobi should never have left. Should never have… _changed things._

And it was as if Cody knew Rex’s innermost thoughts, what with how he looked at him with a blank stare. Since his General’s departure, he had not discussed it with _anyone._

“Honestly, Commander…” and now Skywalker looked vaguely _disappointed,_ as if he were staring at an incompetent- “I had expected better of you. But you’re just like my master in the end, aren’t you? Unwilling to do what it takes. If you’d just let us help you, just _talked_ to us, I’d have seen that he’d rubbed off on you…”

“Sir.” Cody interrupted, a full glare now on his face. “There is something known as a military ruse. A false surrender. While I am offended that you would not trust my abilities enough to believe I would consider it as an option, it does give us the best chance to capture Dooku if we cooperate.”

And at once, the expression changed. Betrayal to grudging acknowledgement.

“Forgive me, Commander.” said General Skywalker, and he sounded begrudgingly impressed. “I understand my mistake. I shall return immediately, and we shall finally bring an end to the Sith Lord who terrorised us.”

“Aye, aye, Sir.” said Rex, and the transmission was cut off. Cody shot a full look at him, of an emotion he couldn’t understand- and he himself stood perfectly emotionless.

He did not voice how the concept of a fake surrender, one of the most perfidious war crimes, had not in the least fazed the General or Cody. And above all, he did not miss how his General had said ‘End’- and not ‘Capture’. Cody hadn’t even bothered.

Looking once again at his _vod’s_ face, Rex realised what the look was, because he had seen it before on Master Kenobi.

_Infinite Sadness._

He could tell his brother was tired of the damned war and wished it over- tired of their _vod’e_ and their Jedi putting themselves in danger. The Vode An had been bred only for war, and as their citizenship and personhood went unrecognised, their futures were uncertain after it- but most of all, they wanted the danger to end.

They both wished their vod’e safe, and their Jedi safe. Rex knew he wanted General Skywalker’s old self back- the cheerful, carefree self that was at the start of the war- just as Cody surely wished Master Kenobi to return.

And from what Rex had seen of Kenobi, he _would_ return- they just needed to finish this damned war first. If that took some questionable decisions to achieve, then so be it.

* * *

“On my Command, Pulsar…” said Master Depa Billaba to the Clone Pilot, Master Hett by her side. The Tatooine-born Master’s analytical and mathematical skills (whose nearly supernatural efficacy, Mace was sure, was aided by the Force in some way that was beyond him), were at the ready to adjust any calculations that needed to be made.

The Dark Ship was nearly upon them.

The plan was simple, really. If they flew close enough to the Ship, just out of the tractor beam’s conical range, they could activate their own tractor beam to pull on the Ship’s side. The colossal difference in scale meant that the _Redoubtable_ would instead be pushed to it.

An activation of their thrusters would mean that the Force vector resolved by both their own tractor beam and the Dark Ship’s would provide them a sufficient relative velocity to cut free of their enemies’ influence, hurtling past the leviathan craft and hurtling to Serenno’s surface.

The turn needed to avoid the Ship’s bulk would be tight, precise and assisted entirely by thrusters. They could either then land on Serenno and fight for their lives, or somehow dodge the (hopefully spent) land defences and jump to Hyperspace after an appropriate turn.

At this point, Mace did not know how the Siege had turned. He did not know if any other ship had made planetfall, as their transmissions were somehow jammed- and that too by the Force, it seemed, if his talent with Shatterpoints was any indications.

He had not previously known such was possible. The Battle was now in Skywalker’s hands, whether or not he wished it.

It was almost time. The Great Bipyramidal bulk of the Dark Ship, still rotating upon Mace could feel a disruption.

 _Ah, so a Force-based tractor beam._ He’d almost expected it. He wordlessly strode to where A’Sharad was furiously barking orders from his datapad of calculations. Mace didn’t know what they entailed, as he was willing to admit it was all Tusken to him, but clapped his hand on his colleague’s shoulder with rather more force than necessary and dragged him down into the depths of the Force.

To his surprise, despite A’Sharad’s practiced serenity, he did not come easily. He was too rooted, to strongly attached to the physical reality- an issue they would need to work on later. For now, he felt this was important.

Mace’ own sublime mastery of the Force and the strength of his balanced spirit made the Force’s murky depths clear; made A’Sharad _see._

 _‘To defeat an enemy, you must know them’ –_ the words of Revan, the Legendary Prodigal Knight of the Old Republic, who had himself borrowed from an adage of the Chiss of the Unknown Regions.

A’Sharad’s eyes snapped open. Usually as sure and graceful in his movements as Obi-Wan himself- and here Mace felt yet another pang for his old friend- he stumbled and on his feet twice, eyes wide in panicked alarm.

“Master Billaba, the tractor beam is Force-assisted! Its pull is variable- we cannot take such a chance! We must increase the distance vector, so that psi squared for the field…”

Mace tuned it out- perhaps he should have paid more attention to astronavigation and advanced mathematics than his duelling and meditation classes- but that was a flaccid matter to ruminate over.

 _Oh, wait._ Increase distance, he said.

“Knight Secura. Master Unduli.” he called into his comm, perfectly calm. He turned to A’Sharad and Depa, fixing both with a glare.

“Increase distance, you said. There’s only so much technology can do.” he said forcefully.

“Well, yes, but…” A’Sharad began. _Force,_ he was just like a more measured, less overwhelming Skywalker at times.

“No technological construct is a match for the power of the Force.” Mace pronounced loudly, just as Aayla (and Bly) as well as Luminara had made their way to the bridge.

And then, gathering the power of both light and dark, the sublime, balanced centre of Vaapad, Mace _pushed._

He pushed with all of the extent of his power and might. He threw his will into it, unleashing every magnitude of power at his command.

The Jedi watched, mesmerised, as the Master of the Order forced the _Redoubtable_ away from its enemy by a sheer feat of will- and they joined in.

It was surely an infinitesimal difference, tiny and imperceptible, against the great girth of their enemy- and yet, it was decisive. They had all closed their eyes, but Mace felt the change in the currents of the Force.

He opened an eye quickly to observe that the Dark Ship was now rotating in a different manner- its bottom half in the opposite direction of the top half to somehow reduce the relative velocity. It was attempting to keep them within reach. The tractor beam still held.

Mace didn’t care. He pushed on. They all did.

And finally- _‘NOW!’_ Mace roared- and brilliant as they all were, the Clone officers understood immediately. Commander Fox needed to make only a gesture, and their own tractor beam was activated. They pulled on the side sof the Dark Ship and wrenched forward with a hurtling speed.

_KHRAKK._

The impact was terrible, and their hull was surely compromised. Mace cushioned it with as much of the Force as he could, still engaged in his feat of strength. The Dark Ship, for all its enormity, seemed all the more pliable to the Will of the Force- for all its strengths, perhaps it was uniquely vulnerable, as well, in that regard.

He could almost imagine the faces of the faceless falling. He could imagine his enemies staring at them in disbelief- and he smiled, for he enjoyed it. It was the cornerstone of Vaapad’s philosophy to truly _enjoy_ a battle, a challenge, and every living moment.

One eternity passed. Two.

_And they were free._

Master of the Order as he was, Mace wished to let out a hoot of joy. He did not, to his credit, and sat down. He alone had expended the greatest part of strength among them all- and he caught his breath one time and a dozen.

Force damn them, they all needed a rest. Perhaps when this disaster was done with, they could-

_KKKKKKKKHT._

“No! NO!” Depa shouted, at nothing in particular. Perhaps it was the Force. Perhaps it was fate and doom itself.

As for Mace, he only felt a silent resignation, for he knew that for all they had done-

_They were not, in fact, free. They had avoided the first trap, and fallen into the second._

Hesitantly and wearily, he rolled up the security camera footage, and cursed with the vilest vocabulary one could learn on his home of Haruun Kal.

And why wasn’t he force-damned- _kriffing-karking-_ surprised when he saw that their bottom hull had been penetrated by a black spike, nearly crystalline, that he just _knew_ had been fired from the Dark Ship. The _Resolute_ rang out with alarms of engine failure. They were well and truly stuck.

What surprised him was that the emergency sealants and the ray shields meshed perfectly with the black spike’s seamless surface- and oh, _kark it,_ it was opening.

“Depa. Come here.” he called, as she and the other Jedi came to him. They came in time to witness a grey-clad figure, for all intents and purposes resembling an ethereal phantom, jump out of the small entrance. It was a difficult thing, but they could make out ritual garments, a hung rosary and monastic robes over a sort of grey-black armour they had never seen before.

There were four lightsaber hilts on the figure’s hip, one different from the others. The figure stretched forth a gloved hand and the clones stationed around the area simply… _fell,_ as if all thoughts of confrontation had been pulled away from them. The other gloved hand merely waved at the black spike, and an equally smooth, crystalline ramp descended from the entrance. Out stepped a bevy of droids.

And then, of course, the figure stared straight at the camera.

“To Master Mace Windu, who is watching, as I am sure. You may address me as the Lord Protector of the Confederacy of Independent Systems. Bravo- that was rather ingenious of all of you, to avoid my ship, the _Darasuum Kote._ I have, however, seen far too much to come up with only one plan. Although it is all rather romantic to consider a glorious last stand, perhaps you would be willing to consider the far more pragmatic option of surrender?”

Mace was… _well._ Heartbroken wouldn’t quite cut it- _he was a Jedi and he absolutely did not think of anyone in that way-_ but ‘devastated’ would do rather nicely.

_Lord Protector. Pah._

There was only one person in the Galaxy who spoke like that.

Mace picked up his comm and harshly brushed away his inhibitions, pulling from his betrayal and righteous fury to refuel his strength and ready his mind for battle.

“ _Master Kenobi._ ” he said powerfully, for all the ship to hear. “Your reasons for betraying us to the Separatists are your own. Yet know this- nothing will change the reality of what we must do. Neither who you were, nor who you are now- and certainly not whatever advantage you think you may hold. We fight, and we fight to the bitter end. We shall never surrender!” Mace pronounced, to abject cheers.

Perhaps he was guilty to not look after his men- perhaos he was guilty to seek victory against this- this _traitor._ But it was not a matter of him and those that were with him- it was a matter of the entirety of the Jedi Order.

_He would show them all what happened to betrayers, no matter what it cost him personally._

“Ah, well.” said Obi-Wan resignedly, and Mace fumed, as he did not miss the odd hint of _pity_ in his voice. “The hard way it is, then. I had expected better of you, Mace- but whether moral, strategic or physical, people never realise the value of the High Ground.”

Saying that, the Lord Protector raised his hand as if a great master of the Old Republic, and three of the lightsabers rose to crown him in a singing tornado. With a mere thought, the camera footage shorted out.

“I hardly need to tell you all what to do.” said Mace, and all of them understood. “Do not let sentiment cloud your judgment. We fight. We die. We make the Republic proud.”

They were off.

* * *

It is in times of reckoning that a Je’daii thrives best.

An old adage of a forgotten order, no doubt. The power of Balance- the Bendu- had not been wakened since ancient times. Perhaps Revan had succeeded somewhat in the Old Republic, but even he had never had the opportunity, within the tumult of the Galaxy then, to achieve true serenity and absolute peace.

And yet, this time in a Galaxy of the same if not greater tumult, it was different. It was different as a true, anointed Master of the Je’daii Order walked the land.

He had spent three years on the ravaged hell that was Tython. A planet with no sentient lifeform save himself. He had put himself through what was worse than torture. He had survived by sheer will alone. And then he had returned through a time anomaly to shorten his leave to six months, accomplishing which was a hell in its own right.

He had nothing but old spectres, whispers and wisps of power as his teachers. He had nothing but a fool’s hope to look for students to carry on his ways. And yet he stood strong.

He was Obi-Wan Kenobi. The First Lord Protector of the Independent Systems. The Last High Master of the Je’daii. And foremost, _he was the eye of the storm._

The aforementioned storm raged around him, in the form of three lightsabers carried forward by the Will of the Force. Every blaster bolt shot at him was deflected at the ground.

Every last one of his droids had been commanded to fire only to stun. A grand military faux-pas, if any, but lethal force was unnecessary in this battle of perfect efficiency.

He knew the interiors of a Venator like no other, save perhaps Anakin. The plan had already been made, minute by minute. Separatist operators charged the droids with commands to disable the ship’s interior systems, without tampering with life support.

The Jedi were on the Bridge, he knew as much; they would stay together. The Je’daii Master would fight his way toward them.

Already, his treacherous heart sorrowed at the sight of the Vod’e. They had felled far more of his droids than he anticipated. It would have been a heroic last stand, were the odds not so decisively in his own favour.

Unlike most CIS-Republic battles, the Separatists did not have the numerical advantage- but they had a Je’daii Master.

Obi-Wan walked calmly onward, ignoring his own thoughts as he efficiently pulled the carbine blaster from yet another company of Vod’e. He then raised his hand, with the entire battalion lifted in a Force-Grip, to be peppered with neural impulses that would render them unconscious.

In his peripheral vision, his team of medics worked hard to load the injured among his prisoners of war onto stretchers. There would be no casualties that could not be prevented- and truly, Serennians were a diligent folk.

It really was painfully easy to sense all of them, with the dark taint of Sidious’ ill-intent in each of their minds. Cover posed no advantage.

The Vod’e, intelligent as they were, understood this somehow. The Clone Captain- he recognised him as Mace’s by the sticker insignia, though he didn’t know his name- had charged out, rallying his brothers, but skill in battle was futile.

They mistakenly fired shots at the medic team- perhaps it was stray fire in the crossfire- but Obi-Wan responded by impaling lightsabers non-lethally through the snipers' shoulders. A necessary sacrifice.

It was futile to shoot at him,a s he was not alone. Master Ductavis had erected a Force barrier around his form, and Lord Traya gleefully haunted his foes with illusions of darkness.

His mind was clear, focused on one factor: Mace Windu.

His old friend was difficult, in all that he was uniquely invincible against the Je’daii arts, possessing some measure of balance himself- but the equilibrium was unstable. Hated that he was forced to fight Mace as he did, he would need to exploit this.

Vaapad was a lethal, perfect weapon against a practitioner of the Dark Side, and its offense- could be equally turned against a Master of the Light- but it was weak against a master of balance. Weak against one who used none of their own power but directed his foes’ own against them.

A simple, nonchalant wave, and the three sabers embedded themselves in the blast doors that led to the bridge. The rest of the ship had been coldly, systematically taken over. Obi-Wan stepped to the side, and had his droids take cover, to avoid any immediate shots.

They waited until the doors were cut open. He let the droids go first- and lo and behold, charging Jedi. As expected.

The Jedi were never meant to be Generals. They knew truly very little of the nuances of War- and it saddened him that he did. He could not, however, dwell on these thoughts now.

He swept out with a swish of his grey cloak, directing each of his lightsabers masterfully against Knight Secura, Master Unduli and Master Billaba respectively.

His old friend waited, powerful purple blade of dual Adegan Kyber crystals ignited.

And so he stepped onto the bridge. There were no words. He had, however, already decided that their duel would be short. For all that Mace Windu was far more powerful and far more skilled than he could consider himself to be, he did not _know_ the power a Je’daii Master could unleash, whereas Obi-Wan knew him perfectly.

He didn’t know the hell that was Tython, the silence that was the truth of the Force, the utter loneliness it was to be the sole living Je’daii.

Obi-Wan took and ignited his fourth blade.

It was shaped cruelly, the emitter crowned with four electrum spikes. It could likely do considerable damage even if not ignited. He caught the slight glimmer of wonderment in Mace’s eyes- in everybody’s eyes- as the oddly shadowy blue-black blade sputtered to life.

It could not truly be called a lightsaber. It was a Forcesaber, the weapon of Rakatan Enforcers known as Force Hounds in ancient times. Typically a weapon of the Dark Side though they were, his was not. He had poured too much of his heart and soul into its creation to be that.

The Ebon Crystal of the Rakata that powered it would remain of a dark nature, but he had purified it. And by its nature, he knew it would be a short duel.

As was the nature of Vaapad, Mace waited, surely awaiting his strike, so that his own power could be redirected.

Obi-Wan took the Forcesaber and thrust sharply at Mace’s torso. Mace sidestepped and attempted a slicing cut to the wrist, but Obi-Wan had brought it back up to guard.

He knew that though Mace did not show, the first phantom pains had made their way through his veins. He only hoped it would not be too terrible afterwards.

He was likely surprised at how _force-null_ the Forcesaber felt. He could not turn it against its master. He could gather no power from Vaapad.

Obi-Wan aimed a crosswise wrath-cut, not using the Force to augment himself in any way. Mace met it, making full use of the Force, before his hands spasmed and stilled, with him giving a surprised grunt of pain.

That was the true onslaught began. Obi-Wan was relentless. Mace was forced to pull more and more of the Force to counter the pain through his arms, to keep the Kyber steady. Every strike of his beautiful purple blade against the ghastly Forcesaber somehow pained his arm.

The other Jedi were occupied on the side. They aimed for the blades of the flying lightsabers like the fools they were, failing to strike at the emitter or short-circuit them. Only Master Billaba had cast her ‘assailant’ aside, using Vaapad just as Mace did.

Her expression was resolute, her resolve determined. She attempted to rush into the fray and join her former master.

Obi-Wan cast her aside and smashed her form against the wall with a practiced swat.

“NO!” Mace shouted, and ah- _now_ he began using his inner darkness. Where once he had been debilitated by pain, his strikes grew in strength. He drew strength from pain, as was the nature of the darkness.

The Je’daii Master reduced his offence to keep up, and began giving ground. He fell back to the firm, practiced patterns of Soresu. The Forcesaber came up to a Crown guard to deflect an attempted thrust, and then a longpoint to keep Mace at bay.

He disengaged when Mace attempted to smash it away with a crooked strike, meeting the follow-up thrust as if he had all the time in the Galaxy. The Vaapad Master was growing stronger and he was weakening, but it was all part of his plan.

There came a time when Mace finally got the better of him. He had attempted to counterattack in a bind with doubling, but the Vaapad Master had loosened his own pressure and brought his saber up and around. The Forcesaber was knocked aside.

All that followed was the decisive thrust to the heart.

It never came, as in the next moment, Jedi Master Mace Windu was lying on his back, completely and utterly unconscious. A precise flick of the wrist right as Obi-Wan was on the brink of dying to his blade had sent him flying back.

It had all been very clever. So steeped had he been in his righteous fury that had drawn too much of the Dark Side. He had lost the balance of Vaapad, leaving him blinded to the simple force push that ended the duel.

 _“This is Lord Kenobi to Flight Groups Bogan and Ashla. Have taken_ Redoubtable; _inform Count Dooku that he must end duel with Knight Skywalker and rendezvous on_ Isengard _. Mace Windu captured.”_

“Roger Roger, Lord Kenobi! Victory to the CIS! Victory to _our Protector!”_ the operator chanted impromptu.

 _Our protector,_ he reflected, as he instructed the droids to override and take control of the Venator’s systems and personally disabled the self-destruct sequence.

That was new. He supposed he’d have to explain to yet another group of people why they shouldn’t call him their protector. Why they shouldn’t expect him to join them, why they shouldn’t come close to him. If they did, they would only be enwrapped in the infinite sadness that was his own to bear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we have it. Jedi Master vs Je'daii Master. Windu vs Kenobi. The Republic vs the Old Republic. Old Republic for the win.
> 
> For the sake of perspective, the Rakatan Infinite Empire was what I'd call a solid Type III on the Kardashev Scale. The Je'daii Order was not even a Type II- perhaps not even a Type I as they did not fully harness Tython's resources. And the Je'daii held the Rakata off, despite the Kardashev scale's massive divide. 
> 
> So Obi-Wan at the height of his power as a (still-learning) Je'daii Master is only equalled by Yoda and potentially surpassed only by Sheev. And his infinite sadness/avoidance tendencies have no equal whatsoever.
> 
> Obi-Wan's forcesaber hilt looks like Castle Vader at Mustafar. The blade is prussian blue, which is not a colour name in sw canon.  
> And yes, I am very, very fond of writing 'Lord Kenobi'.


	9. A Small Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nonsense from keinplatz

Sorry for the, ah, non-chapter, my dear fellows and soon-to-be Sith Acolytes. A bit of a matter has arisen. 

Apparently **TYTHON IS NOW CANON** and shall be depicted in 'The Mandalorian'. Which means I must finally haul myself to watch it. 

Huzzah. Go me for clairvoyance and prestidigitation. Bear in mind that while The Mandalorian's portrayal of Tython shall have little to do with my original intent (for this story is and shall forever remain firmly rooted in the Expanded Universe Timeline), I feel it is prudent to await the series' conclusion (to dispel any potential dissonance). And that means I must begin watching it in the first place. 

I would very gladly appreciate any thoughts about it (I have not watched the Rise of Skywalker, having been disillusioned from the 'canon' part of the franchise by The Last Jedi). Insights would be very much appreciated. 

Until then, arrivederci. 


End file.
